


A Deviant Spawn Betrayal

by mznaughty01



Series: Deviant Spawn [2]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jensen, Cutting, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Infidelity, M/M, Major Character Injury, Piercings, Rimming, Safer Sex, Self Confidence Issues, Top Jared, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Jared forgive Jensen? Will Jensen forgive Jared?</p><p>Warning: Second part of the Deviant Spawn Verse. Please note that A Deviant Spawn Betrayal is very different in tone from A Deviant Spawn Christmas. This fic touches on infidelity, depression, trust issues, self-esteem/self-confidence issues and past emotional/verbal abuse of a child by their sole parental figure. It also deals with self-harm. So if you have ever dealt with self-harm in the past, or are currently dealing with it now, this fic may be triggery so I urge you to please proceed with caution.</p><p>As self-harm is a very serious issue that a lot of people cope with on a daily basis, it's not something I made light of.</p><p>All the characters in this story are OOC. Basically, this story is original fic and I'm just borrowing well known names/characters and their pretty faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You ruined my fucking life."
    
    
              ~Linda Ackles to nine year old son Jensen~

*

**February 4, 2011**

Jensen Ackles stood on the tips of his toes, craning his head this way and that, searching for a familiar face in the baggage claim section of JFK airport. In particular, he was searching for one familiar face. He was searching for the face of the person who'd convinced him to fly up from Orlando for a quick visit starting the Friday before and ending the day after Deviant Spawn's last concert of their current tour.

Despite his serious misgivings, Jensen had agreed to _dunh, dunh, dunh...The Visit_ , as he'd come to think of the trip, when his best friend Dean had suggested it. Dean claimed to be in desperate need of something from his past to help keep himself grounded in his new whirlwind lifestyle as the fiancé of Sam, the mega-celebrity lead singer of Deviant Spawn. And since Sam had arranged a fast approaching, extended vacation to Massachusetts for him and Dean to plan their upcoming May wedding, thereby preventing Dean from visiting home anytime soon, Dean had decided a visit from Jensen would be the perfect solution.

Jensen was well aware the reason presented by Dean as the basis for _The Visit_ was bogus. The real reason had to do with Dean's need to make sure with his own two eyes, before he jetted off to Boston with Sam, that Jensen was doing as good as Jensen often assured him he was during their near nightly phone conversations. Because, afterwards, Dean would be too busy to hound Jensen as he critiqued possible wedding sites, bitched over dry cake tastings and ripped new assholes for his flaming, bourgeois wedding consultants.

And the argument with the florist was sure to be an epic distraction all of its own accord once Sam's color choice for flowers was revealed. Jensen could just imagine how the whole scene would play out: _Yes, Dean did know that black roses were morbid and, no, he did not care that stargazer lilies were a trendy alternative while still being nontraditional unless they, too, could be provided in the needed quantities in black_.

Certain aspects of Jensen's not so distant past fueled Dean's concern for him. And a couple incidents had occurred a few weeks ago, incidents Jensen refused to talk about, which worried Dean. Dean was convinced the incidents could prove to be just enough to launch Jensen head first into a depression Jensen had barely beaten the first time around.

In theory, much as Jensen dreaded the inevitable confrontation with his best friend, there wasn't much about _The Visit_ for him to stress about. All of his expenses _were_ being paid, after all. Plus, Deviant Spawn _did_ hold the spot of being his favorite rock band of all time. And not only was he going to be spending time with Dean, Jensen was going to be seeing Deviant Spawn perform for free...for the _second_ time. And by rights of his friendship with Dean, Jensen would also be mingling and hobnobbing with the three men who made up the band...for the _second_ time.

And _The Visit_ certainly beat the hell out of spending yet another weekend without Dean, his bestest ever, his _only_ bestest, to get into mayhem with. Because the thought of that just sucked. Majorly.

But there was a drawback. The reason behind Jensen's misgivings. And it was a doozy, one which sent the theory flying right out the door.

 _The Visit_ would make seeing Jared again unavoidable.

Jared Padalecki. Deviant Spawn's lead guitarist. Deviant Spawn's awesomely hot and _gay_ lead guitarist. With whom Jensen had had a one night stand with on Christmas Eve. Followed by a totally embarrassing meltdown over the man on Christmas Day. And an emotionally painful encounter with him seven days later on the first day of the New Year.

The incidents Jensen refused to talk about.

But Jensen could deal with seeing Jared again. He _would_ deal with seeing Jared again.

Because, truth be told, Dean wasn't the only person with an ulterior motive. Jensen's agreeing to _The Visit_ had very little to do with keeping his best friend rooted in reality. And a whole lot to do with Jared.

Jensen hoped for the opportunity to speak in private to his one-time lover about what had occurred between the two of them. But Jensen was afraid Jared would reject his request to talk, would reject Jensen's explanation for his actions on New Year's Day even if he did agree to talk—thus, the basis of the uncertainty Jensen felt towards _The Visit_ in general.

After his scan confirmed Dean still wasn't in the vicinity, Jensen rocked back onto the heels of his feet. There was an older couple to his right who, from the look of the mountain of Louis Vuitton bags piled in front of them, had decided to lug the contents of their entire house across the country. And were waiting for yet more of their crap to arrive.

A quick glance around revealed that most of the people from his flight already had at least one of their bags in their possession, making Jensen wonder what Jet Blue god he'd pissed off. He'd been standing there for fifteen minutes, just like his fellow passengers, waiting for his luggage to be unloaded. However, unlike his fellow passengers, Jensen's luggage consisted of a single bag.

To Jensen's left, just behind him, stood three college age girls. The fourth member of their group stood right by Jensen's side. The guy wore his obviously bleached, nape length locks swooped down over one eye and, from what Jensen could see of the visible one, his eyes were a deep shade of blue. He was the same height as Jensen, slim—almost willowy—with a pointy, upturned nose and lips which appeared well suited for the forming of flirty, mischievous grins.

Somehow, the guy had been relegated by his female companions as the retriever of bags while the trio occupied themselves in other ways. Mainly, the three seemed to be entertaining one another by seeing who could sigh the loudest, stomp their feet the hardest and devise the most interesting manner to elsewise indicate their impatience.

Jensen totally got their frustration. He was two seconds from indulging in a bit of stomping of the combat boots of his own when the guy spoke to him in a voice so high it barely qualified as masculine. "Let me guess...here for the Deviant Spawn concert."

 _I'm here for Jared_ , Jensen thought. "Something like that. You?"

"Uh, _yeah_. Hello, you do know that Sam is getting married in a few months, right? It'll take _much_ longer than normal for the guys to put their next album together and to hit the road on another tour." The guy stuck a hand out. "Eric."

Jensen grasped the extended member. "Jensen."

Eric's wrist was limp, his grip inconsequential. "You from the Orlando area, Jensen?"

And the handshake lasted far longer than Jensen would've liked. The need to wipe off the feel of Eric's dead fish touch was an overpowering urge he had to fight hard against. "Pine Hills."

" _Crime Hills_? You actually _live_ there? In _peace_? Make that, you live there in _one piece_?" A grimace flitted across Eric's face. But he quickly covered his disgusted reaction with an, "Ignore me. _Especially_ since we're practically neighbors. I attend UCF," he explained, studying Jensen. "Actually, do we already know each other? You look _really_ familiar..."

"We've never met," Jensen replied, positive his answer was the truth. Just as positive he knew _why_ Eric thought he looked familiar.

"Er- _ric_!" one of the girls whined. "Pay attention! You just let one of my bags go by!"

"Either shut the fuck up, Jessie, or waddle your ass up here and grab your own damn bags," Eric said with a toss of his head.

The girl muttered, "I will, just as soon as your new weirdo of a friend moves out of my way."

"Better watch your mouth, bitch. My new weirdo of a friend lives in Pine Hills. I bet he can beat you up."

"Who you calling a bitch, slut?"

"Who you calling a slut, bitch?"

Jensen mumbled in response, not really saying anything, but just making a sound to acknowledge the two friends' catty swipes at each other. Ready to be away from the foursome, he lunged for his bag right as it made its long awaited appearance around the conveyor's bend.

"Wanna exchange numbers?" Eric asked as Jensen straightened and shouldered the backpack. "We should keep in contact with each other while up here. Back home, too, I mean. Just as long as you know, no offense, I'll _never_ come visit you at your house. But you can always come see me up on campus."

Jensen considered Eric's request as he considered Eric himself. There was a crooked grin on Eric's face. It highlighted just how attractive he was, in a sassy sort of way.

But there was something about the young Carson Kressley lookalike that really put Jensen off. Which was ridiculous considering Jensen couldn't identify what that something was. Nor did he know Eric well enough to have formed a dislike of him.

But still...

And was Eric flirting with him?

Better yet, was Jensen ready for that?

The most important bond Jensen had ever formed in his life was his friendship with Dean. And though they'd been involved with one another sexually, they'd never become involved with each other romantically, a deeper, emotionally entangled involvement which terrified Jensen. And now that Dean was no longer in Orlando, Jensen was left with no other friends at home and definitely with no lovers or love interests anywhere around.

Making a new friend would be good, but fuck, just the thought of doing so, of becoming involved in something more meaningful, made Jensen feel like his entire body was suffocating. It made his skin tingle, made it feel too tight all over. He felt physically ill.

So many possible implications and so many possible unfavorable outcomes. Any type of relationship, whether it was a simple friendship or an affair full of passion and life, meant learning to love. And opening himself up to another person. And baring that part of himself that was the real him that he didn't like to expose to anyone but Dean. And trusting that part of himself to the care of someone new.

That part of himself he'd long ago walled off. An unconscious defense mechanism which had resulted from the personal quest of his mother to tear him down whenever he'd sought out her love or affection while growing up.

But it was as a result of letting those exact same self-doubts rule his actions that shit had turned so sour with Jared, wasn't it?

Christ, he was so screwed up.

Jensen didn't want a relationship with Eric—didn't particularly want a friendship with the guy either—that much he knew for sure. But he did want more with Jared. A whole lot more. He wanted passion and life and love with him. He craved a lifetime's worth of what he'd tasted just the barest hint of at the end of two thousand ten with the man.

But how could he truly expect to ever get anywhere with Jared if he couldn't even open himself up to making this one new fucking friendship with Eric now?

"You really don't seem like the kind of person who'd be interested in getting to know someone like me," Jensen hedged. Eric's zipped up winter coat prevented him from seeing Eric's entire outfit, but Jensen's imagination conjured a fitted, fuchsia shirt made out of some type of sparkly material to accompany the tight, shiny, dark pants he could see.

"I am," Eric assured. "Very interested."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

 _Yeah, why not_? Jensen echoed to himself. "You are talking about getting to know one another as just _friends_ , right?"

"Just _friends_?" Eric's smile widened. "Sure, right, just _friends_."

"Umm, Eric," a different member of the trio said, "I'm not exactly the expert on gay men or anything, but I'm pretty sure you two play the same position."

"Well, I am the, quote-unquote, expert, Lyddy, and just because me and Jensen are both, ahem, _catchers_ doesn't mean we can't still be _friends_. Isn't that right, Jensen?"

"Right," Jensen forced himself to agree amid the chorus of the girls' _ewww_ s. He was scared to death of getting to know Eric better, of inviting Eric to get to know him better, but he was going to fight his demons, goddamn it. The battle was one he was fully prepared to win.

And accepting Eric's offer of friendship was a small victory for Jensen. One that placed him in a much better position mentally to deal with Jared.

After they'd swapped contact information, Jensen made to move away from the luggage carousel...right as Eric's friend Jessie rushed to fill Jensen's void. The void Jensen hadn't yet quite managed to leave.

She knocked into him, pushing him back a step, but instead of apologizing, she sniped, "Move it, freak."

"Going, bitch," Jensen returned with a bright smile. Strange as it was, he was grateful for the disrespect. Her nastiness flung him solidly back into his comfort zone. Unlike the exchange with Eric, this type of encounter was something Jensen knew a little something about.

He'd been dealing with it his entire life.

The Queen Bitch, aka his mother, specialized in the spewing of hateful comments. On the regular. Meaning being called a "freak" by a stranger meant less than nothing to Jensen. Far as insults went, it was actually kind of lacking. Dean's penchant for referring to Jensen as an animal well known for its stubborn disposition and the loud braying noises it made carried more bite.

Pressing his fingers to his lips lightly, so as not to smudge the black lipstick he wore, Jensen then blew chubbs a kiss. While she busied herself retrieving her jaw from the ground, he danced around her to the tune of Eric's tinkling laughter and headed to one of the building's exits. Eager for his first taste of New York with a foundation of solid ground beneath his feet, he stepped out the sliding glass doors.

And found himself the unfortunate victim of a brutal assault mounted by the nighttime winds of early February.

Jensen quickly reached the conclusion that waiting inside for Dean was the preferable option to the frozen tundra. Just as he was about to beat feet in a hasty backtracking, the cell he still held in his hand chirped. The screen indicated he had a new text.

_From: Emma Frost_

_Where the hell are you???_

The message was from Dean, the moniker the name he'd chosen long ago in their comic book infatuation as the character he felt was his alter ego. In X-Men world, Emma Frost was an evil shrew turned good. And her change of character had no bearing at all on the reason why Dean identified with her. He'd chosen her because he felt she was the fictitious epitome of beauty in the female form. And, pretty as he was, Dean represented the feminine facet of beauty in the male form.

Hey, no one had ever accused his friend of being deep when it came to his pretty boy good looks.

Jensen, on the other hand, had changed monikers as he himself evolved throughout the years. First, he'd been Wolverine during the time he still tried to conform to what he thought his mother wanted from him as well as to society's expectations. Strong, manly, masculine. What the world expected of boys.

But after his very first encounter of the sexual nature with a Dean attired in a homemade Emma Frost costume, it became apparent to Jensen that, although he'd been playing the part of Wolverine during their faked skirmish, he was not Logan and Logan was not him. Especially considering the _only_ reason that encounter hadn't reached culmination was due to the ill-timed entrance of Dean's father.

After that, Jensen referred to himself as Northstar of X-Men fame. Then as the rogue superhero Midnighter from The Authority. And, finally, as Midnighter's husband/partner in The Authority's team of superheros, Apollo. But, one by one, he'd eventually cast all three aside because, outside of the fact they were homosexual, he felt no true connection to the characters.

In more recent months, he'd settled on DC Comics's Klarion. The witch boy. Chosen in spite of the character's heterosexuality because Klarion looked different, a characteristic Jensen could identify with. _He_ was different.

And just like the original version of Klarion, Jensen felt incomplete.

Sliding out his phone's keypad, Jensen typed out a reply.

_To: Emma Frost_

_Freezn my nuts off. Bad. Very bad. I adore my nuts. Love them! More than whats healthy. Be warned, lose mine, takn yours...or sams._

Before Jensen could hit the send button, the door behind him slid open. And a familiar voice filled with elation shouted, "Jensen!"

Readying himself to receive an armful of Dean Michael Smith, Jensen returned his cell to the holster clipped to the waistband of his skinny jeans and dropped his backpack to the ground. He heard Dean's fast approaching footsteps and whirled around at the last moment, just in enough time to catch Dean when he launched himself out the building's exit. Granted, Jensen had about two inches on Dean's five-eight height and about fifteen or so pounds on Dean's one-fiftyish weight, but he was no match for a Dean moving at the speed of light and with all the power of one of Jet Blue's AirBuses. He almost found himself bowled over by the staggering force that was his best friend in motion.

Jensen planted a hand on a nearby wall to steady the two of them. Then wrapped both arms around Dean's gray wool peacoat covered waist and hunkered down slightly so he could burrow his face into Dean's scarf covered neck.

A million things he both wanted and needed to say ran through his mind. He settled on a muffled, "Shit, I've missed you, dude."

"Well, that was very anticlimactic," Dean replied, returning the embrace. "We haven't seen each other since Christmas and the best you've got for me is a _Shit, I've missed you, dude_?"

"Hell, no, that's not the best." Some of the tension that had plagued Jensen nonstop for weeks melted away. He almost felt whole again. It felt that good to be in Dean's arms and to hold Dean in his. Dean, who had so often been Jensen's anchor when his emotions threatened to consume and carry him away. "Orlando is dead without you, Dean. And when I say dead, I mean deceased, defunct, expired, lifeless. And why the hell didn't you tell me New York is synonymous for the tenth, unexplored, frozen level _of_ hell?"

"C'mon, Jensen, you've only got a hoodie on, for crying out loud. Did you really expect to come up here and not be cold?"

"We're Florida boys, Dean. If memory serves me correctly, up until two weeks ago, you didn't even own a winter coat. I still don't because it makes no sense for me to buy one just for a two-night trip. And since you brought up the issue of expectations, let me share mine with you. What I expected was not to have to deal with the retraction of my nuts inside of my body, dude. They said to inform you they're staying put until my return flight lands at OIA. And I also didn't expect that without you, Orlando would really, truly—"

"Suck?" Dean dropped his arms and tried to step away.

Jensen held tight, threading his fingers together at the small of Dean's back as he stepped forward with him. He pressed his face more firmly into Dean's neck, not caring that his black cosmetics were in danger of being wiped off by Dean's light gray scarf. "What? Suck? Nah, that's not what I was going to say. I was going to say I didn't expect that without you, Orlando would really, truly, er, um...reek! That's it! Reeks! The city absolutely reeks without you. Like horse shit. Or elephant shit. Or cat and dog shit. All mixed together."

"Did you really just say reeks?" Although Jensen couldn't see Dean's face, he could still hear his amusement.

"You already know the O sucks without you, man. Sucks donkey balls. Giant donkey balls."

"Great, big, giant, hairy, sweaty donkey balls," Dean finished. "That's exactly how I feel about every place I've been so far with Sam. Wherever I go with him always feels right, like I'm living out a dream, because he's there with me, but at the same time it feels wrong, too, because you're not there and we've always done everything together. Sounds corny, I know, but d'ya know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do. That feeling of wrongness is definitely all throughout Orlando without you around." They both stopped speaking, both silently acknowledging the fact that things didn't have to be the way they were. Jensen could've come along on Deviant Spawn's tour. He'd been asked to.

And not by Dean.

Dean knew about the invitation extended by Jared. Damn near each and every one of Dean's family members—as well as half the people who lived in Dean's parents' neighborhood—knew about the invitation extended by Jared.

The very public invitation extended by Jared.

The very public invitation extended by Jared that Jensen had also very publicly rejected.

"Okay, 'nuff of this mushy stuff," Dean said after a few seconds. "Let go now so I can see you."

"Nuh-uh." Jensen held tighter.

"Let go of me, Jensen." Dean wedged his hands between their fused bodies, placing them flat in the center of Jensen's chest. He tried to dislodge Jensen with a push, but when that didn't work, he removed his hands and reached behind his back. Grasping Jensen's wrists, he tugged ineffectually. "Sheesh, quit being a jackass already and let go. I want to see you."

"No, you don't," Jensen muttered under his breath.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What?" Jensen repeated, all innocence.

"Don't play stupid with me, Jensen. What did you just say?"

"Wha- _huh_? Say? I didn't say anything, man. You're hearing stuff." Figuring he better shift the conversation in a different direction, Jensen added, "And, shit, Dean, it really has been too long since the last time we saw each other. By the way, where's Sam? Since you guys are damn near attached at the hip all the time now, thought for sure he'd be here with you."

"We are not attached at the hip...well, at least not _all_ the time, but he is here. Last I saw, he was being mobbed by..." Dean stopped speaking, then suddenly went stiff in Jensen's arms after another bid for his freedom resulted in failure. "Jensen Ross Ackles! Why, exactly, are you holding on to me so tightly? But, more importantly, why are you trying to _distract_ me from the fact that you're holding on to me so tightly?" Voice suspicious, he accused, "You're hiding something, aren't you?"

"Have no idea what you're talking about, pretty boy."

"What have I told you about calling me that? And you're not slick! I know that was nothing more than another one of your attempts to distract me!" Twisting and turning, Dean wiggled ferociously. He wedged his hands against Jensen's chest a second time, pushing with all of his strength.

In an attempt to keep his secrets hidden, and to stave off the confrontation with Dean as long as possible, Jensen used his slightly bigger size to keep tenuous hold. But when Dean went slack, the cessation of movement shocked Jensen so much he loosened his grip, fearing he'd caused harm to his friend. He only realized he'd been fooled when Dean pushed him away with a forceful shove.

"Hiya, Dean!" Jensen chirruped, the left side of his face turned away. He'd had to snap his head into position so quick he'd almost given himself whiplash.

"Heya, jackass," Dean trilled, circling Jensen. His dark greens were fixed on Jensen's profile. "What's up? Anything new or interesting you want to tell me about? For example, how 'bout you go ahead and share whatever it is you're trying so damn hard to keep hidden from me."

Jensen turned in place, in sync with Dean. He kept pace, left side of his face always just out of Dean's view, even when Dean tried to trick him by slowing down followed by a sudden increase in speed. "Hidden? I'm not trying to hide anything from you. Nope, not at all. Whatever gave you that crazy idea?" They completed one full circuit and started in on a second. "Gosh, Dean, I really have missed you, dude. Like crazy. You have no idea how—"

All further efforts to derail Dean's inspection were crushed when a sliding door a few feet away opened. A loud combination of screaming shouts and stampeding feet rolled out the airport onto the artificially brightened platform. Shocked by the commotion, Jensen stopped moving so he could see what the excitement was all about. He watched as Sam swaggered out the door's opening followed by Clif, his behemoth personal bodyguard. They were trailed by a huge throng of tittering fans.

"Oh. My. God."

 _Uh-oh_. Jensen's attention flew back to Dean. He immediately knew his secrets weren't quite so secret anymore. "You like? Fits my image, huh?"

"Do I like? Fits your image? _Are you kidding me_?" Arms cocked at the elbows, Dean planted his fists on his hips. "No, I don't like! And what image were you going for, Jensen? I'm depressed, kill me now? 'Cause if that's what you were aiming for, you nailed it, buddy!"

"And that's why I tried to keep the piercings hidden from you, because I _knew_ you would read too much into them."

"Not with another person, I wouldn't. But with you, yes, I do. You, I know. Jesus, it was bad enough when you told me about the lip piercings, but why weren't they enough, Jensen? Why the hell did you feel the need to go and do all that to the left side of your face?"

"Technically, _I_ myself did not—"

"We are so not playing word games right now."

Jensen opened his mouth wide to voice another protest.

"Jensen, please tell me that is not yet another piercing I am seeing in your tongue!"

Closing his mouth, Jensen looked around frantically for something he could use to divert Dean's attention. Over Dean's shoulder, he honed in on the trio. They were right on Clif's heel, star struck expressions in place. Jensen blurted through lips held stiffly in place, "Straight girls, Dean, three o'clock. Eyeing your bisexual fiancé lustfully."

"Considering what he was doing to me just a few hours ago, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that Sam isn't bisexual anymore," Dean countered, not missing a beat. "He's extremely gay."

Eric walked a few feet behind his friends, his gaze fastened to the back of Sam's head, his face reflecting a strong, naked hunger. His beautiful, blue eyes flicked forward, completing the path to Sam's end destination, and landed on Dean.

Then moved on over to Jensen. When he saw Jensen, his eyebrows drew together, his forehead knitting in a confused frown.

Jensen knew the exact moment Eric worked out in his head why Jensen had looked so familiar to him. As recognition dawned, Eric's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"In that case," Jensen said, "maybe you should be more worried about the cute twink—"

"Quit trying to sidetrack me! And tell me—"

Sam finally reached them. He wrapped a hand around one of Dean's upper arms and spun Dean towards him. Bowing his head, he slanted his lips over Dean's, cutting Dean off mid-shrieking question. Jensen couldn't help but stare at the two as intently as the group of people crushed around them, who watched and captured the zealous presentation with a variety of devices capable of both taking pictures and recording videos.

The kiss was no chaste peck on the lips between two lovers reuniting after a very brief separation. Regardless that Sam's long, unbound hair fell forward to mostly shield the two from prying eyes, it was clear the kiss was just barely fit for public viewing. It was driven by Sam and all the sensual singer's desire and love for his intended were evident as he buried his fingers in Dean's longish hair and consumed Dean's lips voraciously.

"Missed you," Sam said, tenor guttural, when he broke contact several seconds later. "Thought I told you to wait for me."

"And I thought I told you if you want something to order around, a lapdog is the way to go," Dean mumbled through swollen lips.

Eyebrows canted, a suggestive smile formed on Sam's tanned face. "Why in the world would I want to own a hairy little mongrel when I've spent so much time and effort training a hairless little Dean on how to keep me happy for hours on end?"

Dean's pale skin turned a very becoming shade of pink. "Sam!"

A throaty, seductive female voice declared from the mob Clif was pushing back, "Train me, Sam. I'm more than happy to be his replacement."

"Back off, sweetheart," Dean hissed even as Sam gave the busty bombshell an appreciative once over. "He's mine."

"Definitely his," Sam concurred. He leaned in close to Dean and said, "And as for your idea, lovely, you're cuter than a lapdog, easier to take care of and much more satisfying to play with."

Sam may have been using the opportunity to entertain the surrounding, giggling crowd, but Jensen could see the heat in his eyes as he spoke the words. There was no doubt in Jensen's mind that Sam derived lots of pleasure "playing" with Dean. Lots.

Jensen's heart ached in longing. If things had gone differently, if his insecurities hadn't reared their ugly heads and caused him to totally spazz out, he could've had a similar fairy tale romance with Jared.

But now Jared hated him. With good reason.

Unless Jensen could make him understand.

"Remind me to show you later exactly how much more, Dean," Sam said. He brushed his lips against Dean's mouth, which hung open in embarrassed shock, slung an arm around Dean's shoulders, then straightened. He turned his attention to Jensen and, after a thorough perusal, nodded. "Hey, witch boy, very cool piercings."

Setting his melancholic thoughts aside, Jensen grinned as Dean's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Not only had Sam publicly flustered Dean's cool in a manner Jensen would never be able to emulate, he'd also hand delivered to Jensen a very useful platform to use against Dean in the argument he knew would be forthcoming.

"See?" Jensen said, smug. "Sam likes them."


	2. Chapter 2

"Get out of my sight, get out of my house, _get out of my life_!"
    
    
              ~Linda Ackles to eighteen year old son Jensen~

*

**December 24, 2010**

" _Let go of me_ ," Jensen leaned over to hiss in Dean's ear.

Dean’s response was instant. "No." 

Jensen couldn't believe Dean! Dean had just seen Deviant Spawn's delicious guitarist wink at Jensen! Dean could see the intense come-hither look those hazels were blazing at Jensen from the other side of the dressing room!

But leave it to Jensen’s ever collected best friend to destroy fantasies. Dean refused to relinquish his hold on Jensen’s wrist because he knew if he did, the force of Jensen’s bouncing body would levitate Jensen right off the ugly ass jacquard couch they were sitting on and right into a full-on, rabid fan attack of Jared.

But, shit, wasn't that what he was supposed to do? Last time Jensen checked, losing his mind over being in the same room and breathing the same air as his idol was acceptable behavior in the land of fandom.

And considering that idol had just _winked_ at him, well, a rabid fan attack was only to be expected.

Despite his denial to Dean's application of the word to him just minutes before, Jensen knew he was exactly what Dean claimed he was. Where Jared Tristan Padalecki was concerned, Jensen Ross Ackles was a self-admitted fangirl. And _sooo_ star struck it wasn't even funny.

Hell, Jensen had even come to tonight's concert dressed just like the man. Over his long-sleeve black mesh shirt, Jensen wore a replica of the black leather vest Jared always performed in that Jensen had ordered long ago off the band's website. And for the past year, Jensen had been styling his short, spiked hair so it was blue at the tips just like Jared's chin length locks were.

Dean knew Jensen lusted after Jared as much as Dean himself lusted after Sam, Deviant Spawn's lead singer. So that's why Jensen couldn't believe his best friend really had the nerve to be reasonable right now! Didn't he know, if the positions were reversed, that Jensen would never let a trite issue like, _gag_!, sensibleness get in the way of Dean’s fun?

"But I really, _really_ want to go talk to Jared," Jensen said, voice whiny and wheedling. But he didn't care. He would whine, wheedle, beg, grovel and do everything else he could think of to make a pest of himself if it would make Dean turn him loose. “Come on, De. Let go, man. _Pretty please_. Swear I'll make it worth your while later."

Jensen meant what he said, too. If Dean would grant him this one favor now, then later, when it was just the two of them in Jensen’s one bedroom apartment, drinking strawberry milkshakes from McDonalds and playing Batman: Arkham Asylum on the Xbox, Jensen would do all the things to Dean that Dean found pleasurable. And after years of unimpeded exploration of his friend's lithe, soft body, Jensen knew _everything_ Dean liked.

Like how having his toes sucked drove him absolutely bat shit crazy. Like how hard he liked to get fucked. Like how fast he liked to get fucked.

Like how long he preferred the fucking to last. But that was something Dean had learned to compromise with Jensen on. Jensen didn't really have a choice in the matter so neither did Dean.

If Dean would just let go, Jensen would start off his pay back with some foreplay. He would bathe the crack of Dean’s milky white ass with thick, pink, strawberry milkshake, then lick up of every single sticky drop. Dean’s front side would also receive the same messy treatment.

Jensen was just about to tell Dean that, using as many nasty, dirty, descriptive, imaginative words he could possibly think of when Dean spoke again, dashing Jensen’s hopes to death. And Jensen meant death as in his single seater had just lost power at twenty thousand feet. Or like he'd just come face-to-face with a starved mama bear searching for sustenance to feed her hungry young.

Or like Jensen was Superman battling the most badass villain in all of comic book history, Doomsday. At least, he was the most badass in Jensen’s opinion, because, come on, the guy had killed Superman.

Really, he had.

"No way," Dean responded. "There is absolutely no way possible I would dare let you loose on him all hyped up as you are right now. You know my cousin hates that I have balls and she doesn't. Do you _want_ her to have a valid reason to cut off mine?"

Dean had Jensen with that one. It was the ultimate reason for Dean to not let Jensen at Jared. A reason Jensen couldn't argue with.

Dean's cousin, popular Orlando radio personality Genevieve "Gen" Cortese, had arranged this meet and greet with Deviant Spawn. Jensen didn't know how she had managed to do it, as the band was known for shunning all gatherings of any type immediately following their performances, but Jensen was sure glad that she had. Free, front row tickets and this meeting after Deviant Spawn's Christmas Eve in Orlando concert, their very first concert in the US after being on tour in Europe for the past year, was her Christmas gift to Dean and Jensen.

Which meant Dean and Jensen had to be on their best behavior ever. Despite the fact that any insane behavior could no doubt be smoothed over by Gen, as she was friendly with the band, punishment meted by her for any infraction was sure to be fierce.

If Genevieve really wanted to, she could kick both Dean's ass and Jensen’s. At the same time. With a blindfold covering both of her eyes. And with both of her arms restrained behind her back. And both of her legs chained together. While sitting in a chair, no less.

Damn Genevieve, stupid ass butch lesbian.

Damn Dean and Jensen, stupid ass weak fruitcakes.

Bottom lip poked out, Jensen resigned himself to only being allowed to make googly eyes at Jared from across the room. But, then, miracle of all miracles, Dean's tight grip on Jensen’s wrist vanished as he stood when Sam entered the room. Eyes glazed over, Dean walked away from the couch where Jensen sat watching in incredulity. It was on the tip of his tongue to quiz Dean about just what in the hell he thought he was getting ready to do.

But Jensen’s question remained unasked. He refused to let Dean make a hypocrite out of him. No, siree, wasn't going to happen.

Jensen was a cock lover, _not_ a cock blocker.

As Dean approached Sam, Jensen hustled on over to Jared.

When Jensen skidded to a halt in front of the chaise he lounged upon, Jared smiled up at him. He rolled the toothpick hanging from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Took you long enough to make your way over here."

"My friend wouldn't let me come over," Jensen hurriedly apologized.

Jensen couldn't believe it! He was actually talking to Jared!

This was so beast!

And mega sweet!

Heart thudding painful and loud, Jensen continued in one breath, "Cause, believe me, if it had been up to me, I would've been over here looong before you even had a chance to sit down yourself. And, jeez, I can't believe I'm actually having a conversation with you! Do you have any idea who you are? You're Jared Padalecki! And I'm, like, in love with you! Totally! Completely! Have been for six whole years. Ever since the first time I heard you playing the guitar when I was thirteen. That was the year Dean, my hater of a friend over there, gave me Deviant Spawn's first album for my b-day. And has anyone ever told you the way you play the guitar is crazy sensual? Because it is. Almost like you're making love through your notes." Jensen paused to take a much needed deep gulp of air, then decided he should probably introduce himself. "By the way, I'm—"

"Loquacious," Jared's scrumptious, deep voice interjected.

Jensen grinned, unabashed. "I've been called that word before. Well, maybe not that _exact_ word, but Dean and a few others have referred to me as both chatty and talkative a time or two. I bet it means the same thing, doesn't it? Sounds like it does."

"It does. And _just_ a time or two?"

"Give or take a couple thousand."

"Now that sounds more accurate." With his hand, Jared motioned to an empty spot on the chaise. "Sit. Make yourself comfortable."

Jensen took him up on his offer. But instead of sitting where Jared had indicated, at the unoccupied foot of the chaise, Jensen made himself right at home in a different location.

One that just happened to be between Jared’s legs which Jensen had nudged open to accommodate his form.

"Bold, too, I see," Jared commented.

"I can also cook and clean," Jensen remarked cheekily.

Then, figuring he might as well go all out, Jensen leaned back until his body mirrored Jared's. The top of his spiked head was snuggled beneath Jared’s chin. His back was pressed flush to Jared’s chest with its light mat of exposed dark hair, which trailed down his taut belly to disappear into his tight black jeans. And Jared’s hard, muscular legs outlined Jensen’s.

Jared wrapped his right arm around Jensen’s middle, pulling back until Jensen’s bottom was nestled securely against his crotch. Warm, moist air ghosted across the shell of Jensen’s ear as he asked, "Comfy?"

Barely repressing a full body shiver, Jensen squeaked, "Yes."

"Yes?" Jared questioned, but when Jensen didn't say anything more, he added, "That's it? That's all you have to say? _Now_ you choose to be a miser with your words? You're a funny one, my gothic little twin." A seductive chuckle rumbled deep in Jared’s chest. "Well, I plan to have one more word from you, at least. I want your name."

"Jensen," Jensen murmured.

"Jensen, Jensen, Jensen. What would you say, Jensen," Jared growled, "if I told you that I like you?"

"I would say that I love you." The last three words were spoken so low, they were no more than a whisper.

"You love me, baby? Is that what you just said?"

"Totally. Completely. Have for six whole years."

Jared fell silent. Then cautioned, "Better be careful with those words of yours, because you do know what happens if you declare your love for me one more time, don't you?"

"I'll turn into a prince and you'll transform into my knight-in-shining armor?" Jensen asked hopefully.

"I like the way you think," Jared responded, laughing, "but we need to get one thing straight. I ain't no goddamn knight in shining armor."

"I can live with that."

"Can you?" There was a clear challenge in the question. "Can you honestly deal with belonging to me? Because if you make that third declaration, that's what'll happen. I'll _own_ you."

"And I _can_ live with that," Jensen proclaimed, the shiver which had threatened earlier overtaking him.

"So you say. But I think you're in need of a distraction before you end up committing yourself to something you haven't taken the necessary time to think all the way through."

Embarrassed, Jensen closed his mouth. His mouth he had just opened again so he could boldly make that third declaration.

"Ahh, our friends. Look at them over there, Jensen." Jared's right hand snaked under Jensen’s vest and stroked up and down his mesh covered left side. "They're the perfect distraction. Is it just me, or does it appear that the hater is in dire need of saving from the horny?"

With extreme effort, Jensen made himself focus on the two figures standing near the double doors. And couldn't believe what he saw.

Sam, still naked from the waist up after stripping out of his shirt during his performance, had Dean hemmed up tight against his body. And it was obvious he was using his hand to guide Dean's in an intimate massage of a certain part of his body below the belt.

"The hater is most definitely in dire need of saving," Jensen observed, giggling. His giggles had nothing to do with Dean's abject helplessness, however, and all to do with his own giddiness. But what gay guy wouldn't giggle girlishly if they found themselves damn near sitting in Jared Padalecki's lap with a solid, unmistakable bulge pressed up close against their ass?

And with the very real possibility of being owned by the man? Jensen wasn't into the dominant/submissive lifestyle, but he'd gladly let Jared control him for a night.

Right at that moment, Sam huskily said to Dean, "Now, you can clearly see what it is that I want from you. So, the question is, do we continue? Or do we stop?"

"Stop, Sam. For the love of God, stop," Jared called out, voice tinged with amusement, before Dean had a chance to answer for himself. Which was probably a good thing because Jensen wasn't sure that his normally unflappable best friend was capable of speech at the moment. "Can't you see you got that kid all shook up? Leave him alone."

"Is that true, lovely? I got you all shook up?" Sam quizzed Dean.

Dean gave the tiniest shake of his head in the negative.

Yep, that settled it. Mr. Calm, Cool and Always Collected was totally incapable of forming coherent sentences.

"The kid says he's cool," Sam asserted, all the while continuing to use Dean's fingers to stroke his erection through his black leather pants.

"Then, for the love of God, lover boy, stop because you got _me_ all shook up."

"Never let it be said that Sam doesn't give his audience exactly what his audience wants." Sam released Dean from his hold. "Even when those wants clearly don't coincide with his own."

Dean stumbled backwards a step. Then spun towards the exit and fled the room.

And Sam, appearing very much the proverbial cat who ate the canary, watched him. He held something squeezed tight in one of his fists.

As the door swung shut behind Dean, everyone but Jensen guffawed raucously. Even the two chicks wrapped around Christian removed their licking, sucking maws off the drummer to join in on the mirth. Mind on other matters, Jensen twisted around in Jared's hold and, as Jared’s eyes flicked down to settle on his, Jensen reached up with one hand and plucked the toothpick from his mouth.

Cover to mislead from what he was really doing.

Flipping the toothpick to the ground, Jensen stood up and rushed out the door, following after Dean.

Just as Jensen burst into the hallway, he heard Jared's smooth baritone ask, "Think they'll come to the after party?" Followed a second later by his statement of, "I'm really digging the talkative goth, but I think you scared the quiet, girly one shitless, Sam."

Sam's sure and confident response of—"They'll be there."—provided fuel for a second bout of snorts and snickers. Before the thick, steel door clicked shut, Jared gasped out a choked, "Fuck, you always have been a slick ass bastard."

Jensen had a strong feeling about the meaning behind the verbal bantering. Dean leaned against a wall of the hallway, trying to regulate his breathing and it was obvious that he also puzzled it over.

Hoping to facilitate another meeting with Jared later in the night, Jensen frantically thought of a way to prevent Dean from thinking too hard. It could only be to both of their advantages if he didn't straighten out his Sam baffled brain to discover that Sam had probably somehow managed to confiscate his keys. Sam evidently had some type of grand plan in the works and Jensen recognized it fell to him to keep Dean off kilter long enough for that plan to be set into motion.

Jensen thrust his hand at Dean. The hand he'd used to grab a quick, inconspicuous grope of Jared's hardness.

Confused, Dean stared down at it. "What?"

"Just wanted to greet a fellow member of Club Fangirls, s'all,” Jensen replied, straight-faced.

After a few hesitant moments, Dean grabbed the outstretched hand. Jensen didn't fail to notice it was the same hand used in the feeling up of Sam. Vigorously, Dean shook their clasped, Deviant Spawn familiarized appendages up and down and said, "I'm not only a member, I'm also the founder and the president."

A cheesy smile spread across his face. Mission accomplished, Jensen let a similar one overtake his.

As they headed towards the building's exit, Jensen enthused, "Did you hear Jared? He actually said he digs me! _He_ digs _me_! Not nearly as much as I dig him, of course, but still! Man, that is so beast! And, holy fuck, what the hell was that with you and Sam? Jesus, Dean, I think he likes you. Like, really, _really_ likes you!"

And Jensen strongly suspected before the night was over and done with, Dean was going to find out exactly how much Sam liked him.

Just as Jensen himself hoped to find out exactly how much Jared dug him.


	3. Chapter 3

"I should've just aborted you, you ungrateful little bastard."
    
    
              ~Linda Ackles to eleven year old son Jensen~

*

**February 4, 2011**

"Sam likes them," Jensen said for the sixth time since entering the stretch limousine. As expected, Dean had lit into him about his piercings. And since Sam's endorsement was the most persuasive argument Jensen had working in his favor, he'd been wearing it out ever since they'd departed the airport. "Tell him again, Sam. You like them, right?"

"I like the way they look," Sam confirmed for the sixth time.

"You heard him," Dean said from his spot at Sam's side on the other side of the vehicle. His left hand was stationed on Sam's black clad thigh, the huge, onyx diamond of his engagement ring winking every time the light from an overhead street lamp filtered through the limo's sunroof. "Sam only likes the way they look. He doesn't like their meaning. Isn't that right, Sam?"

For the sixth time, Sam confirmed, "Although I don't know the exact meaning, I'm leaning towards thinking that, yes, whatever it is, it's extremely unsettling and definitely something I won't care for."

"There is no meaning," Jensen said, long past the point of losing patience with the entire situation. "Dean, please tell Sam that there is no meaning."

"You want me to _lie_ to my fiancé?" Dean demanded, indignant.

"What I want is for you and your fiancé to both understand that there is no meaning other than I wanted to get a piercing so I got one!"

" _A_ piercing, Jensen? Really?" Shaking his head, Dean continued, "I could deal with _a_ piercing. I could understand _a_ piercing. Last I'd heard, you'd only gotten one more than _a_ piercing. But let's be real here, you didn't just stop with the two piercings in your lip. You went out and let somebody pierce you three additional times, four if we count the piercings in your ear as the two they really are!"

Where the hell had Mr. Calm, Cool and Always Collected gotten off to. Jensen _so_ wanted him back. ASAP.

As Dean persisted with his ranting and raving, Jensen let his thoughts wander. Unsurprisingly, they returned to the airport.

And Eric.

God, he really didn't like the guy. He still hadn't identified an actual reason as to why.

But...but maybe Eric wasn't quite so bad.

_"Jensen, you can just wipe that smug expression right off your face," Dean snapped. Then he glared up at Sam. "And you," he said, "are mistaken about Jensen's piercings."_

_"I am?" Sam asked, amusement clear._

_"Yes, you are. Those piercings are not cool. _Not cool at all_."_

_Picking up on the genuineness of Dean's distress, Sam's humor faded. "What's wrong, Dean? What's going on?"_

_"Please, Dean, let's do this in private," Jensen interjected, subdued. He didn't want his life's problems aired out to the entire population of JFK airport. The entire population of JFK airport currently standing not even two feet away with their camera phones, iPods and other devices held in hand._

_He didn't want Sam to know about his problems either. Which was why Jensen had made Dean promise weeks ago to never to tell him. Otherwise, if Sam knew, then he'd surely tell Jared. And Jensen could already guess how Jared would react towards him after hearing his story from the mouth of another person first._

_Pity. Everyone always felt pity for Jensen on learning the details of his jacked up relationship with his mother. Dean's parents. Dean's sister. His cousin Genevieve. All people Dean had told._

_There were only two people Jensen was certain hadn't felt pity for him: the therapist hired by Mr. and Mrs. Smith and Dean. They were also the only two people that Jensen had told himself. And Jensen desperately needed that unlikely difference to be key._

_Because the thought of Jared pitying him was the worst of the worst. Jensen would much rather deal with Jared's disgust and anger over what Jensen had done to him, not his pity._

__Never _his pity._

_But, almost without a doubt, pity was what Jensen would end up with if Jared didn't hear the story from him directly._

_The severe expression on Dean's face softened. "You know I'd never publicly humiliate you. I leave those types of antics up to Sam as he excels so well in them. But, Jensen, you and I are going to talk about this."_

_"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's kinda what I figured." Jensen bent to pick up the backpack he'd dropped. When he stood, he felt a form sidle up close beside him._

_"I think the piercings are cool," Eric crooned silkily, rubbing his chest against Jensen's arm. "And it seems we have_ a lot _to talk about,_ friend _." Then he melded into the crowd Clif and the newly arrived airport security guards were forcing to disperse._

_Jensen watched the blond head as it disappeared into the moving mass. He couldn't help but feel somewhat indebted to Eric for voicing his support...even if he had done so only loud enough for Jensen to hear._

_And Jensen quickly discovered that he wasn't fond of feeling like he owed Eric anything._

_"Who was that?" Sam questioned._

_"Yeah, Jensen, who was that?" Dean echoed._

_Uneasy over Eric's parting comment, Jensen hoped the answer he gave proved to be true. "My new friend."_

"Jensen!" The screeching voice of Jensen's oldest and dearest friend yanked Jensen out of his memory. "Damn it, are you listening to me?"

"No, Dean, I'm not." Jensen stuck his fingers in his ears. "So not listening to you."

"Real mature, Jensen, real mature."

"Lalalalala, I can't hear you," Jensen singsonged.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, stop that. And just admit that you engaged in a disturbing activity."

"Can't do that. There's nothing disturbing about me getting a few piercings."

"There's not?" Dean's face was flushed with a mixture of annoyance, love and worry. "How about we ask Sam what he thinks, then? About _all_ of it, no details left out."

"What?" Jensen unplugged his ears. "No, Dean, you promised you wouldn't tell! _You promised_!"

"And I've kept your confidence up to this point. I've never even _hinted_ to Sam about your issues. But...but I think it's time he knew. Time for us both to hear his opinion. His _unbiased_ opinion."

"Of what?" Sam questioned.

"Of the fact that, as recent as a year ago, Jensen used to cut himself. Deep. And often."

Sam stared at Jensen as if Jensen had just sprouted a set of perfectly formed boobies. "Jesus, you're a cutter?"

"Was," Jensen clarified, slumped down in his seat. He waited, expecting Sam to whip out his cell and call Jared on the spot to share this newest piece of knowledge he'd acquired about Jensen.

Once Jared laid eyes on Jensen again, he would know. He would know the reason for the make-up. He would know the reason for the piercings. He would know the reason behind Jensen's actions on New Year's Day.

He would know just how screwed up Jensen really was.

And he would know even though Jensen hadn't told him himself, defeating Jensen's purpose for making this stupid trip in the first place.

Then would come the pity for poor, poor Jensen.

But instead of retrieving his cell, Sam asked, "Why?"

"For relief from the emotional turmoil brought down on him by his own mother," Dean answered. "Same reason, I suspect, he got those piercings."

"I'm over her." Alleviation flooded through Jensen though he'd modulated his tone to reflect terseness. He hoped sounding and acting irritated would keep Dean thinking that his mother really was the reason for the piercings. So long as Dean didn't associate the jewelry with Jared, everything was good and Jensen would have his chance to talk to Jared before anyone else did. "You know she means nothing to me."

"I know you say that. But I also know the worthless whore is still your mother."

"My mother who I haven't talked to since she kicked me out of her house."

"Crappy as she is, she's still the only mother you got. The only one you'll ever have."

"No, she's not, Dean. I have your mom."

"Then what happened, Jensen? You completed the therapy sessions. You promised me, Mom and Dad last year that you'd stop it with the self-mutilation. _You got better._ "

"I didn't harm myself." Jensen closed his eyes to block out the disquiet on Dean's face and the disbelief on Sam's.

"That's right, you didn't. You were real quick to point out to me at the airport, weren't you," Dean ground out. "You didn't have to do it because you found someone to do it for you and then _paid_ them for services rendered. Think about what I just said, Jensen. Think about how sick that sounds."

"Dude, you are so making this way more serious than what it really is." Jensen gently rolled the beaded part of the jewelry in his tongue against the back of his teeth.

At five weeks out, his first piercings, the two through the left corner of his bottom lip, were just about complete with the healing process. As was the piercing through his left eyebrow at four and a half weeks out. His tongue piercing and the industrial piercing connecting the hole in his left ear's upper cartilage to the hole in the cartilage a little lower down by way of a long, straight barbell, were both newer and would require months longer to heal.

Thankfully, none of the piercings had gotten infected and none had sent his body into shock from sensory overload.

None were even sore anymore.

"And I think you're not taking this seriously enough." Quietly, Dean asked, "If this isn't about your mother, then what is it about? Is this about Jared? Is what happened with him the reason for the setback?"

"No," Jensen protested, eyes popping open. He discovered that not only was Dean staring at him intently, but that Sam eyed him with a lot of interest as well. "This has nothing to do with Jared and nothing to do with what happened. _Nothing_. And this isn't a setback, it's body art. A form of expression. A way for me to—"

"You're babbling."

"I always babble."

"In excitement. And right now you're filled to the brim with excitement. The _nervous_ kind. Makes me wonder why."

"My piercings don't have anything to do with Jared, okay?" Jensen insisted. "I got them because I'd thought they'd be cool. And...and because of my mother. Yeah, definitely because of my mother."

The limo pulled to a stop and when Clif opened the door from the outside a few seconds later, Jensen made sure he was the first person out. Before Dean could catch up to him, and pester him even further with uncomfortably accurate questions, Jensen rushed to the doors of The Huntington, the hotel where he would be staying and where Deviant Spawn would be performing the next night.

He was stopped several feet short from his destination by two silent, massive men who seemed to appear right out of thin air. From somewhere behind him, Clif shouted, "He's good."

The guards moved and Jensen continued on his way.

From Dean's reaction to the piercings above his neck, Jensen knew he'd have to be real careful not to let his best friend see him without a shirt for the duration of _The Visit_. He grimaced, thinking of the verbal backlash if Dean was to catch sight of the curved barbell pierced through Jensen's navel.

And the rings looped through each of Jensen's nips? It went without saying he would have to keep those on the hush-hush also. Until the day he died.

Having no idea where he was supposed to go, Jensen stopped once he'd passed the hotel's threshold, prepared to wait for the others to catch up to him. He wanted them to give him the directions, and the keycard, to the room he would be occupying so he could disappear and avoid them for the rest of the night. But the sounds of an acoustic guitar immediately caught Jensen's attention, the melody beckoning him to a set of just cracked open double doors situated right off the hotel's luxuriant lobby.

From the interior of the unknown room, a third guard appeared. He blocked Jensen from entering. "Where do you think you're going?"

Jared. Jared was through those doors. "I, um, I'm here to see—"

"The guitar player? Fan of his?" The guard stepped close. Eyes glued to Jensen's mouth, he licked his thick lips. He lowered his voice as he said, "I'm here to make sure _nobody_ gets through these doors, but if you really want to watch Jared practice, I'm sure I can make an...exception."

Jensen was saved from having to respond by Sam’s yell from across the lobby, "What the— _get the fuck away from him_!"

"Shoulda known that you already belong to Sam," the guard grumbled, jumping back. Louder, he responded directly to Sam, "Just stopping the kid from pissing Jared off. He made it very clear before he went in there that he doesn't want to be disturbed right now."

"And I could give a fuck what the hell Jared wants, asshole. Let the boy pass, goddamn it."

Before doing as bid, the guard warned Jensen in an undertone, "Not one word, sunshine."

And so Jensen was allowed access, unmolested, to what turned out to be The Huntington's huge, in-house nightclub. He didn't care about the guard's thinly veiled threat. He didn't care that Dean and Sam were no doubt coming up right behind him.

He had to see him.

He had to see Jared.

The few lights turned on in Doux Rêves were all pointed at the center of the club's stage. Where they highlighted the tall, lean man who stood there, alone, eyes closed. His lips were turned down at the corners and he held his body curved over that of the obsidian instrument he held.

The wailing of his guitar could best be described as mournful.

Jared wore his hair as he always did, parted down the middle at the top of his head so it hung loose on either side of his striking face. It was dark brown at the roots with the ends colored a vibrant blue. He was dressed in Deviant Spawn's standard color choice of black, his outfit consisting of a tight, long-sleeved shirt paired with sinfully tight jeans tucked into calf high, thick soled boots with numerous silver buckles running down the outer sides.

In his right hand, he held the pick he used to strum the guitar's taut steel strings. Enthralled, Jensen moved to the edge of the stage, watching the long fingers of Jared's left hand as they sinuously moved up and down the instrument's neck, coaxing the sweet, sad sound into existence.

The auditory form of sweet, sad lovemaking.

The vibrating notes washed over Jensen, making him remember the night he'd been on the receiving end of those talented fingers. They'd moved similarly over his body and, god, like Jared did now with his guitar, he had also made Jensen howl.

As if he knew he was being examined, Jared's eyes opened and unerringly landed on Jensen. Jensen's breath caught as the music stopped, the guitar strap was ripped over Jared's head and the instrument tossed aside atop one of the nearby amplifiers. Jared leaped off the stage, landing right in front of Jensen.

He brushed a thumb over Jensen's bottom lip, making it quiver. His touch was hard enough to rub off the black lipstick Jensen wore and the exploration only stopped when Jared reached the two metal hoops at the left corner. His eyes flicked from the lip piercings to Jensen's left ear to Jensen's left eyebrow.

Then his eyes drifted even higher to take in Jensen's spiked hair. Which was no longer blue at the ends. It was now red tipped.

Hazels snapped down to meet Jensen's eyes as Jared jerked his hand and body away. "Foolish, foolish me. For just a second there I let myself forget. And I...yeah, you know what? Not even going there with you. So...what's with the pin cushion look?"

"Thought I'd try something different," Jensen said, cringing on hearing the scorn in Jared's voice. "Change is good."

"As you've demonstrated so well in the past. That night, you felt no qualms about showing me exactly how good you think change is, did you," Jared sneered. Still staring hard at Jensen, he snapped, "Why the fuck is he here?"

"Because I invited him," Dean answered as he appeared on Jensen's right side. He softly bumped his shoulder against Jensen's, a silent show of support and unity.

"The question was _why_ ," Jared snarled through rigid lips.

"Because he's—"

"My early Valentine's Day gift," Sam interrupted, joining the group on Jensen's left. Tone provocative, he said, "Christmas morning I begged my lovely for a ménage with him and his delectable best friend and, voila, here we have Jensen, a little over a week before the day dedicated to lovers. Perfect V-Day present, wouldn't you say, JT?"

Jensen was certain whatever explanation Dean had been about to offer for his presence, it wasn't anywhere near the one thrown out by Sam. Nor did he understand why Sam seemed to be baiting Jared.

But Sam's explanation did serve one very useful purpose. It redirected Jared's unnerving stare away from Jensen. And onto Sam.

"Not helping, Sam," Dean groaned.

"Come now, lovely, I'll make it fun for all three of us. I promise." Voice filled with seductive allusions, Sam purred, "And you know how well I keep my promises."

Dean sighed. "And how quickly you seem to have forgotten the conclusion of that conversation on threesomes and monogamy. With that being said, _if_ I were to allow Jensen to join us, which I would never do, I think you could benefit from a friendly reminder that Jensen tops as well as bottoms. And he tops quite well. I, for one, never had any complaints."

If the entire situation hadn't been so stressful and tense, Jensen would've laughed. The expression on Sam's face told the whole story about his opinion when it came to him and bottoming.

Wasn't ever going to happen.

"Witch boy won't be getting anywhere near my ass," Sam said. "You can count on that. I figure what we'll do is bury his dick in your sweet behind while I bury my cock in—"

"Touch him," Jared roared, "and I swear to God I'll—"

"You'll what?" Switching off his sexual playfulness, Sam got right up in Jared's face. "Take care of him like you should've started doing weeks ago? The boy's half in love with you, yet you fucked him then cruelly strung him along for the next seven days. Then you walked away. And now that someone else expresses an interest, you have the audacity to start with the jealous shit? Well, you can just shove it up your fucking ass, JT."

"You're correct," Jared acknowledged through clenched teeth. "You're absolutely correct. I don't have the right to be jealous. Now here's a suggestion for you, lover boy. Before making any more stupid accusations, why don't you try asking first why I walked away."

"You know I have. Numerous times. Only to have you shut me down on each and every occasion." Sam laughed, the sound harsh and ugly and Jensen's heart stuttered as he said, "You stupid fuck, if you only knew all that Jensen—"

"Sam, no," Dean cut in.

Jensen breathed in a sigh of relief when Sam complied with Dean's protest by muttering an expletive. Followed by the shutting of his mouth.

Only to have the air choke him seconds later when Jared next spoke.

"That's right, Sam, no," he spat. "I don't want to know Jensen's dirty little secrets. I don't want to know why he hides behind the makeup and now the jewelry. I don't want to know what it is that he hides. As a matter of fact, I don't want to know shit else about the little bastard, because what I do know is more than enough. And as for your insatiable curiosity, you now have your chance to ask the only other person who knows what the deal is. Ask the red headed emo why I walked away."

"Shithead," Sam barked.

"And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it, fucker," Jared responded, striding to the stage's stairs. Once up on the platform, he picked up his guitar and re-strapped it to his chest. Facial expression impassive, he stared down at Jensen from his higher perch as he started playing the instrument again. This time the tempo was angry, passionate, fervent.

It embodied every tempestuous emotion Jensen felt for Jared.

And every contemptuous emotion Jared felt for Jensen.

"Jensen," Dean said as Sam stalked out the club, "don't bother lying to me again. I know all those piercings are because of Jared. You needed the pain."

"Yep." Jensen's mono-syllable response was so quiet it was almost drowned out by Jared's loud, intense solo.

"Why? What happened between you and him? Because everyone has just sort of automatically assumed that whatever occurred, it was all Jared's fault since neither of you will talk about it."

"It's not."

"I'm really starting to get that now. Crap, Jensen," Dean said, eyes flicking from Jensen to Jared up on the stage to the open doors to the hotel lobby that Sam had disappeared through. "I know you've had a lot on your mind lately, so I haven't said anything, but you should really know there's been tension between those two, tension between _Jared and everybody_. Ever since New Year's Day. And you just saw for yourself how volatile it's gotten between him and Sam."

Jensen nodded.

"It's so bad now it's threatening to destroy not only their friendship, but also Deviant Spawn." Dean's gaze focused on Jensen again, the dark green depths filled with concern. "So, unless you want our favorite band to self-destruct, I really need for you to start talking. Tell me what the hell happened the day Jared came back for you, Jensen. What the hell happened on New Year's Day?"

To hide the tears slowly trickling down his cheeks, Jensen lowered his eyes to the ground. He didn't bother to wipe the hot tracks away, the burn on his skin reminiscent of the blistering in his heart. "I happened."

"What do you mean?"

"I screwed up, Dean. Big time." Screwed up so bad it was more than evident there would be no chance of reconciliation.

Jensen was not a prince. Jared was not his knight-in-shining armor. And their story was not some fucking fairy tale romance.

This was real life.

Following the path set by Sam, Jensen ran out the club.


	4. Chapter 4

"I hate you. Fucking hate you!"
    
    
              ~Linda Ackles to seven year old son Jensen~

*

 

**December 24, 2010**

As Jensen suspected, Sam had stolen Dean's keys, leaving them dependent on him for transportation. And though Sam did provide that transportation, via a limo, it hadn’t taken them home. Instead, it had taken them to the club where Deviant Spawn would be in residence for their after party. Jensen couldn't help but poke fun at Dean the entire way there about how easily Sam had duped Dean and gotten under his skin.

Cool, contained Dean was a cutie.

But totally flustered and ruffled Dean was a person Jensen had only met on the rare occasion in the entire twelve years they'd known each other and he was just too hilarious. Jensen wanted him to hang around for a little while.

On entering Virtuous, infuriated with Jensen and his teasing, Dean grumbled, "You just make sure you get my keys, jackass." Dean skulked off, dodging the guard who tried to grab his arm. But Dean proved to be too quick and was down the steps leading to the club's crowded lower level before the guard could stop him. It was the same guard who had chased Jensen and Dean down in the concert venue's parking lot and escorted them, to Dean's consternation and loud objection, to the waiting limo.

Smiling, Jensen approached the guard with a shrug.

The guard grunted, "Guess one's better than none."

Then he guided Jensen up to the third floor, the section reserved for VIP. Jensen was surprised to see that he was the only person present other than a few bored looking girls, none much older than him, who were all dressed in ass cheek baring red shorts, minuscule white half shirts with Virtuous blazoned across their chests in big, crimson lettering, and silver, strappy, stiletto sandals. Jensen felt a slight disappointment, having expected VIP to actually be packed with _very important people_ such as music industry promoters and magazine reporters. Or, at the very least, he'd expected that he would be socializing with other Deviant Spawn fans or even their groupies.

Jensen sat in the middle of a couch as the guard motioned to the closest girl. She trotted over, but didn't lose that look of _Do I have to?_ until the guard said, "A close friend of the band. Treat him good and get him whatever he wants. There's a big tip involved."

Mistakenly, Jensen thought it was the words "big tip" which caused the girl to brighten. Her change in personality was so drastic, that once the guard disappeared down the stairs, the girl decided to have a sit down. By straddling Jensen’s _lap_.

Head cocked to one side, curls cascaded over a shoulder, she regarded Jensen through big, guileless eyes. She leaned forward, until his face was inches from her breasts.

"So, you're a friend of the band," she said breathlessly, enlightening Jensen as to the true cause of her rapid switch in temperament. "Any way you think you could hook me up with Sam? And since he's bi, maybe you might even be interested in joining us for the night? I kinda have a _thing_ for gay goth boys. And you're cute."

Jeez, Jensen had found the groupie. And he hadn’t even tried to. Go him.

Now, it’s important to note that Jensen had never, ever truly found himself at a loss for words before.

Never.

Ever.

Even when Jared had questioned if he was "comfy" earlier, Jensen had been able to respond. Didn't matter that it was a sadly lacking one word response, Jensen had still said something.

But, right at this exact moment, Jensen didn't have a clue what to say to this chick. This chick who was straight up lying. She was full of shit. She didn't have a _thing_ for gay goth boys. She had a _thing_ for Sam...and anything that might land her in his bed. But if she hoped to charm the singer into burying his magic stick into her enchanted sheath, she was sniffing after the wrong fairy. She would need Dean to assist with that wish.

When Jensen didn't answer right away, she moved her big ol' jugs until his face was buried in their sweet smelling crevice, cutting off both his sight and his ability to breathe. Jensen held his breath, determined that if he was going to die of oxygen deprivation, then it was going to be by his own choice and not because he'd been smothered to death by a set of double Ds.

Thankfully, his ability to hear hadn't been impaired. He listened to the DJ announce Deviant Spawn was in the building, experiencing equal parts titillation and horror.

Titillation, because, well, Jensen would be seeing Jared again. Real soon.

Horror, because the pronouncement titillated the girl as well. She sprang up, pushing to her knees and leaned into Jensen further, bringing another part of her anatomy that Jensen had no interest in meeting into direct contact with his upper belly. Jensen was very disgusted to discover this newest part of her was hot and wet.

And mesh shirts? Yeah, not the most effective as moisture resistant barriers.

From somewhere behind him, Jensen heard a very famous tenor remark, "Damn, Clif, thought you said you told the girl she'd only get the tip if she treated him good."

"Sam," the girl whispered. "Oh, my god, it's Sam."

 _Sam_ , Jensen thought in relief. _Saved just in the nick of time._

"What?" the guard protested. "Looks like he's being treated good to me. Real good."

No, no, no, no, no! Chicks with oversized ta-tas and damp crotches were not this gay boy's definition of a good time! But when Jensen opened his mouth to voice that complaint, he found it filled with woman flesh. Disgusted, he sputtered, glad that at least a shirt, what little of it there was, had prevented him from getting his first true taste of titties. Given his relationship with his mother, Jensen was fairly certain that bitch hadn't given it to him as an infant via breastfeeding.

A loud smack sounded. And the sex kitten leaped off Jensen. Rubbing her abused rear end, disgruntlement on her face, she whirled to confront her assailant.

And came face-to-face with Jared. A very irate Jared. Eyeing her in disgust, Jared said, "Here's your tip, get lost."

Shooting one last look of longing over Jensen’s shoulder, in Sam's direction, the girl returned to where she'd been standing earlier.

"Thanks," Jensen said, with feeling, gasping to fill his lungs with much needed air.

"Don't go thanking me just yet," Jared replied, a sly grin twisting his lips. "My turn."

And for the second time that night, Jensen found himself with a guest straddling his lap. But at least this time it was by someone he desired.

And, more importantly, given Jared's distinct lack of a bosom, Jensen could _breathe_.

Jared grabbed both of Jensen’s hands in one of his and pinned them behind Jensen’s head on the top of the couch. Placing his lips right over Jensen’s left ear, he said, "Hope you don't think for one moment that I didn't notice what you did earlier."

"Did? Earlier? Me? Have no idea what you're talking about," Jensen lied through his teeth, knowing he fibbed about as well as the sex kitten. "Or, are you talking about that toothpick? 'Cause if you are, I'll replace it for you. In fact, I'll buy you a whole—"

"Fuck the toothpick." Starting at the top of Jensen’s ear, Jared ran his tongue down its edge until he reached the lobe. "I'm talking about that feel you copped."

"I did do that, didn't I? About that, er...sorry? Didn't think you would notice?"

Jared grabbed the fleshy part of Jensen’s ear between his teeth, nibbled gently, then let it go. "And I don't believe you for one second."

"You're right, I absolutely don't regret what I did," Jensen agreed. "Would _sooo_ do it again if given the chance."

"Now that I do believe," Jared said, hot breath tickling Jensen.

Then he pulled back slightly...only to place his mouth right on top of Jensen’s moments later.

The feel of his firm lips was heavenly. His salty, male taste unbelievable. And the knowledge of who it was on top of Jensen, so thoroughly owning him?

Mind blowing.

An eager participant in the meeting of their lips, Jensen gave as good as he expected to receive. Opening wide, he thrust his tongue into Jared's mouth before Jared had a chance to plunge his into Jensen’s.

Not content with having control wrestled from him, Jared used his tongue to chase Jensen’s back to where it belonged, inside of Jensen's own mouth. Jensen willingly let him do so, settling for sucking on Jared’s tongue instead.

Their oral acrobatics continued until a throat, in very close proximity, cleared loudly. In unison, they turned their heads to see a now fully clothed Sam sitting on the couch right next to them. Sam observed them with amusement.

"Jensen, right?" Sam inquired.

Jensen nodded.

"Sorry to break up all the fun," he said, mischievous grin negating his apology, "but I’m feeling a little lonely over here all by myself. Christian over there has the freaky duo to keep him company and Jared has you. That leaves me as the odd man out. And that just ain't right, don't you think? So how 'bout telling me where I can find that lovely friend of yours."

"Waiting—on me—jeezus—he wants his—sweet lord—his keys," Jensen answered between rapid pants, eyes half shut. On seeing that Sam wasn't speaking to him, Jared had started sucking on the skin of Jensen’s turned neck, right above the leather collar Jensen wore. 

"You can just tell him that I said no. But he's more than welcome to come up here and discuss the issue with me directly if he would like. JT, can you stop chewing on our new friend long enough for him to go deliver my message?"

After applying one last long lick, starting at Jensen’s collarbone and ending at his ear, Jared freed Jensen’s hands of their confinement and removed himself from Jensen’s lap. Lightened of Jared’s comforting weight, Jensen felt bereft. But he dutifully followed suit regardless, standing as well.

Naughty smile still in place, Sam suggested, "JT, I think a little incentive just might be called for right about now. You know, a little something to make sure your boy hurries back to you."

"And I think that you might just be on to something, lover boy." Tucking a hand down the front of Jensen’s jeans, Jared used the leverage to haul Jensen close. He placed feather light kisses on each of Jensen’s eyelids and on the tip of his nose. His lips descended on Jensen’s, hot and heavy, filled with the promise of what was to come. He pulled back to whisper, "Don't keep me waiting for too long, baby. Else I’ll be forced to come find you. Understand?"

And, for the second time in his life, the second time in one night, Jensen found himself without words. So he just nodded.

Jensen drifted down the stairs. Aimlessly, he wandered through the club's second level, not paying attention to where he was going and not really searching for Dean. Jensen’s thoughts were dominated by Jared. And that was the state in which Dean found him.

"Were you able to get my keys?" Dean asked, pulling Jensen to an out of the way corner.

Jensen shook my head.

"Damn it. Did you at least see Sam? Did you speak with him?"

Head nod.

"What did he—Jensen, why the hell is your lipstick smudged all over your face? Never mind, don't answer that. I don't want to know. Just tell me what Sam said. Did he give a reason for why he refused to give them to you?"

Head nod.

"Let me guess...he refused to hand them over because, because he wants me to come up there instead."

Head nod.

"I can't go up there," Dean whined, raking a shaky hand through his hair. "I mean, I guess I could, but I...can't. I mean, I won't, because, oh, my god, I'm not, like, a groupie or something. But if he were to...then I would...I _really_ would...crap, listen, Jensen, you have to get those keys for me, 'kay?" Setting both hands on Jensen’s shoulders, Dean angled him towards the stairs and gave him a stern push.

Jensen mounted the steps to VIP again, only stopping when he stood in front of Sam who was now sprawled on his back along the length of the couch. His head rested on the arm, cushioned by the palm of his left hand.

"Find him?" he asked.

Disappointed that he didn't see Jared anywhere in the immediate area, Jensen was just about to inform Sam of Dean's rejection of his invitation and his most recent demand for the return of his keys. But then Jensen heard Clif answer from right beside him, "Know exactly where he is, boss. Just let me know when you're ready to go collect him."

Bemused, Jensen observed Sam's cunning smirk. And Clif's amused expression.

Shit, this time Jensen had been the one duped! They'd made sure he was so out of it over Jared, that he hadn't even been aware of the guard following him.

Or realize that he was leading the guard straight to Dean's little hiding spot down on the second floor.

Poor Dean. Once Sam caught up to him, the chance of him resisting the sexy musician was equivalent to the chance of—

A rock hard chest pressed against Jensen’s back. "You still owe me for that feel you stole earlier," Jared's distinctive voice rumbled. "And I have every intention of collecting."

—Jensen resisting Jared. Only, Jensen wasn't planning to resist Jared.

"Starting now."

Nope, resistance was nowhere on the agenda for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

"You wouldn't be here if I'd never let your useless father get me drunk the night I met him."
    
    
              ~Linda Ackles to ten year old son Jensen~

*

**February 5, 2011**

Against Sam's privacy inclined nature to personally arrange accommodations absolutely unknown by the media, Dean had talked him into staying the night at The Huntington along with his band mates, Christian's two girlfriends and Jensen. Sam had agreed because he knew Dean wanted to be near Jensen.

And also because he'd warned the hotel's manager he would hold her personally accountable if he awoke in the morning to discover his floor invaded by the paparazzi and/or any fans. After Jensen heard the repercussions laid out if Sam were to discover just one person outside his room who wasn't supposed to be there, none of which included the manager losing her job, Jensen was positive he never wanted to find himself on Sam's bad side.

Convincing Sam had been the easy part for Dean. That left only Jensen to be convinced. Problem was, Jensen still didn't want to talk about the incidents. Not to Dean, he didn't. And the one person Jensen did want to talk to didn't want to talk to him.

So Dean had allowed Jensen to escape to his room after extracting a promise that they _would_ have their conversation first thing the next day.

Jensen had spent most of the night awake, tormented. Fully clothed, he lay crossways on the bed, on top of the sheets, and stared into the absolute blackness of his room as he tried and tried to think of all the positives of not having to go through with his apology to Jared. For example, it had been bad enough being present in the flesh to experience and reap the immediate repercussions of the mistake he'd made. He really hadn't wanted to suffer the embarrassment of reliving that mistake out loud while at the same time trying to make his nonsensical actions sound logical. Also, he was being faced with the anger and disgust he preferred.

Why, then, had it hurt so goddamn bad when Jared expressed that anger and disgust by referring to Jensen as a little bastard? The two words fit Jensen. Perfectly. He wasn't a big guy and he was, indeed, a bastard. He'd been aware of his inadequacies and his fatherless state since before he could talk good.

For his mother had spared no opportunity to inform him he was an illegitimate piece of shit who was as useless as his absentee father.

It hurt because Jensen was bullshitting himself.

He didn't want Jared to be angry at him. He wanted Jared to love him.

Wasn't he worthy of being loved? Sure, what he did to Jared on New Year's Day was horrid and shitty, but wasn't he still worthy of someone's love?

The way his life had gone, it sure didn't feel like it.

Fuck, the way his life had gone was the whole reason why he'd done what he had to begin with and ended up in this mess.

After retrieving Dean's message from the hotel's voicemail system advising he'd be over in fifteen, Jensen rolled off the bed, brushed his teeth and washed his face. He debated whether or not to apply his makeup before deciding he didn't have enough time. He'd just have to do without. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

Right after the second incident, in a desperate effort to better himself, Jensen had started weaning himself off his need to hide behind a mask. Some days had been better than others. On his good days, he'd managed to triumph over his dependency for a span of several hours at a time. On his bad days, two minutes after his eyes popped open, he found himself in the bathroom using his eyeliner to draw matching lines starting above his eyebrows down over his eyelids to branch out onto his cheeks. His managers at Walmart were not amused by him on those days.

Especially not when he pointed out that he still looked less freaky than half the customers featured on the website People of Walmart.

And as he had made his visits to a few of the tattoo and piercing salons located in Orlando, Jensen had absolutely refused to allow himself to analyze the hypocrisy of overcoming one dependency while falling victim to another.

Reneging on his word to Dean much as Dean had done to him, Jensen vacated his room before his best friend made his promised appearance and headed down to the third floor to Quartz, one of the hotel's two restaurants. He'd silenced his cell the night before when it wouldn't stop its incessant chirping, but still felt it best to conveniently "forget" it on his bed just to be sure Dean had no way of tracking him down.

Holding a glass of what the way too bubbly for seven in the morning waiter claimed to be freshly squeezed OJ in hand, Jensen sat at a table at the back of the room. He stared at the ground, consumed by his thoughts.

The expression on Jared's face the night before as he'd started playing that second time haunted Jensen. It had been emotionless. Completely and absolutely emotionless.

Jared didn't care about him anymore.

But that wasn't exactly accurate. Jared's music held the truth. He did care. Just not in any way that Jensen wanted him to.

Jensen had known from the beginning that agreeing to The Visit wasn't a good idea. Had known enacting his plan was a worse idea. Now, after witnessing firm proof that New York held no reprieve for him, he was leaning towards having the hotel arrange a taxi to take him to JFK so he could hop on the first flight back to Orlando.

Because he couldn't do this. He wasn't strong enough.

To be near Jared knowing Jared despised him—

"You're like a totally different person when wearing all that face paint and with all those facial piercings. I honestly didn't recognize you yesterday."

Startled, Jensen jumped, causing juice to slosh over the sides of the glass. His eyes shot to the person who'd spoken. "What are you doing here?"

"Stalking." A refreshed, well-rested Eric dropped into the chair opposite Jensen. He unwrapped the napkin from around the eating utensils of the place setting in front of him and handed the cloth across the table.

Setting his glass down, Jensen accepted the napkin. He dropped his gaze to his hand as he wiped away the moisture. "Stalking? Stalking who?"

"You, them...does it really matter? Although I think it's safe to say that stalking you _is_ stalking them."

"Well, that's..." Strange. Creepy. Demented. Unlawful. Jensen thought of a few more adjectives that could be used to describe Eric's activity, but none were tactful, so he settled on asking, "Do you always make it a habit of stalking celebrities?"

"Only the ones I really like. Now, Jensen, a question for you." In Jensen's peripheral, he saw Eric fold his arms on top of the table and lean forward onto them. "Do you always make it a habit of fucking them?"

And Jensen suddenly understood what it was about Eric that bothered him. When they'd first met, Eric's demeanor had been just as spirited as it was now and sprinkled with an even more liberal dose of snarkiness. But his attitude hadn't run Jensen off because Jensen had needed to make Eric's friendship just to prove to himself that he could and because Eric's attitude had also been playful...and all directed towards his friend, Jessie.

Now that Jensen found himself on the receiving end of a similar attitude, he discovered he really didn't like the slight trace of malicious "playfulness" he could hear in Eric's voice. It really made him regret his decision to not stay firmly ensconced in his comfort zone the day before.

Jensen tossed the cloth onto the table, both eyes locking with Eric's one artfully exposed orb. "Who said I fucked one?"

"You know as well as I do that you didn't have to say it. All those silly ass, goofy expressions on your face in all those photos taken on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day of you and a certain mouthwatering guitar player said it all for you. By the way, did you know that you and your friend are icons for gay boys worldwide now? Well, not so much you really as your little feminine friend. Dean Smith has made it widely known in a very big way that even little ol' faggy boys like me can make a love connection with a high profile celebrity, while you—you, nobody has heard anything more about. You just kind of fell off into obscurity, story untold, just another grou—ah, well, you get my point." Eric grinned his crooked grin. "So, how is Mr. Jared Padalecki doing nowadays? Are you even in the know?"

Jensen knew all right. Jared would be doing a whole lot better if the little bastard was hundreds of miles away instead of in the same hotel as him, but that was one truth Jensen refused to share with Eric. "Again, I ask what are you doing here as only paying guests are being allowed access to the hotel right now. And at more than five ninety-nine a night, I'm positive The Huntington is a bit out of your price range."

Eric shrugged. "I have my reason for being here."

"And your ways, apparently, of gaining access to a place where you're not supposed to be. Would those ways happen to include a certain security guard?"

Rolling his eye, Eric said, "That guard did nothing more than what I would've expected of my _friend_ had he answered any of my texts or calls last night or this morning."

A sense of foreboding cloaked Jensen. "Eric, what the hell is your reason for being here?"

"Like I said yesterday, it seems we have a lot to talk about. Maybe that's why I'm here."

"Great. Let's do this. Let's have our talk. Me first. I don't know you, I don't owe you anything and I was busy last night as well as this morning. There. Everything's out in the open now. And I have nothing more to say to you besides asking you to please leave."

"You were busy? Last night _and_ this morning?" Eric reclined back in his chair, smile fading fast. "So you did reacquaint yourself with the joys of being a groupie."

"Oops, I lied. I did forget something." Jensen pasted a false smile onto his face. "I forgot to mention that I also don't particularly like you."

"The feeling is definitely mutual, friend."

Their staring match went on for several long seconds, neither speaking again, neither backing down. It was only broken when a fist thumped the center of their table, causing them both to jump in surprise.

A fist which belonged to Jared. Whose red shot eyes, wild blue tipped hair and recycled, rumpled clothes from the day before made him appear every bit as bad as Jensen knew he himself looked and, worse yet, felt.

"It is far too early in the fucking morning for me to be putting up with your fucking bullshit, Jensen, especially after I vowed I would never put up with it ever again," he barked. "Why the fuck didn't you tell Dean where the fuck you were going so he wouldn't be worried about your simple fucking ass? When he discovered you weren't in your room, like you were supposed to fucking be, he woke every-fucking-body up to start a manhunt for you. And why the fuck haven't you been answering your phone? I called you at least ten goddamn times in the past five fucking minutes."

Jensen's earliest memory, from when he was no more than three or so, was of eating a chicken wing. His mother had given it to him...after she'd doused it with hot sauce. Her and her boyfriend at the time had then laughed hysterically as Jensen spit out the piece of meat and clawed at his tongue, crying out, "Hot! Hot! Mommy, hot!"

Jared's rage made the intense burn Jensen remembered enflaming his mouth that day seem as cool as the frigid winds that had welcomed him to New York City the night before.

"I-I-I, um, I f-forgot it," Jensen stammered. "Upstairs. On m-my bed. I didn't mean to—"

"That is the second time I've heard that bullshit ass I didn't mean to excuse from you. Just shut the fuck up." Jared pulled his vibrating cell out the pocket of his jeans and shoved it up to his ear. "Found him. Down on the third floor at Quartz with—" he eyed Eric "—some new friend he's made. He's good at making friends. Ask him what the fuck that's supposed to mean. He's fine. Why did you guys think he wouldn't be? Good one, Sam. Don't really care, but I will. I'll be that, lover boy. Uh-huh. Fuck you, too. Yeah, might as well. Don't worry, I'll bring them both." Icy hazels fixed on Jensen, Jared stuffed the phone back into his pocket. "So, Jensen, it appears it's on you to explain to me why Sam and Dean would be worried about you harming yourself."

"I don't know why," Jensen whispered.

Jared stared at Jensen, long and hard, his gaze intense. "You are such a fucking liar."

"I'm not—"

"Honest, loving, faithful or trustworthy. Those are just a few of the things you have proven that you are not, but a liar is most definitely something that you are." Jared spun on his heel. "Let's go," he threw over his shoulder as he made his way towards the exit. "Thanks to you, everybody's awake now so we've moved practice up by a few hours. And it's my unfortunate responsibility to make sure that you and your new boyfriend here show up at the club, safe and sound."

"I'm not his boyfriend," Eric was quick to announce. Then, lower, for Jensen's ears alone, "Well, I think it safe to say you two haven't been rekindling any love affairs with each other recently. And that untold story is finally coming out, Jensen, and, tsk, tsk, tsk, I can't believe what I'm learning about you."

"Eric, leave, please," Jensen pleaded, feeling the vice grip on his heart contract.

"So sorry to have to have to disappoint you, but I'm really not about to go anywhere now." Eric stood and placed his hands flat on the table's top. He leaned across the surface, until his face was inches from Jensen's, then giggled, the sound acidic to Jensen's raw, exposed nerves. "Oh, and in answer to your question, he's the reason I'm here. And you heard the man. I'm to show up at practice, too. Don't want to make him mad at me so I better do as he says. Especially since angering him is your thing, groupie boy, not mine. I'm angling for more of a long-term love affair myself. One full of me, him, my fidelity and his fame and fortune." He straightened, then pranced along behind Jared, snorting, "Cheating, attention seeking, dramatic, stupid little fool."

Eric wasn't bad. Bad was too decent a term.

Eric was a bitch, just like his friend from the airport. And a slut, just like that friend had called him.

With the way his hips swayed sensually as he moved to catch up to Jared, the worshipful expression on his face and his ambition, he was also a very real threat to Jensen's already nonexistent opportunity at happiness.

Jensen shot to his feet. "Hey, friend, you should probably go to the bathroom and wash your face off. There's some nut on your chin. Must be leftover from your breakfast."

Eric responded by increasing the twitch of his hips.

"Bitch," Jensen muttered, suppressing the desire to run and shove Eric into the frame of the restaurant's door. He did force himself to trail Jared and Eric, though. All the way to Doux Rêves's entrance, lagging a respectable distance behind the entire way there so he wasn't subjected to too much of Eric's inane chattering and Jared's progressively less curt responses. He hung back as they entered the club, Jared's bark of laughter an intangible barrier which prevented him from following.

Eyes squeezed shut, Jensen leaned against a wall of the lobby. He envisioned himself standing on the ledge of a cliff. It was a place he'd been before, one he intimately knew and recognized.

One he'd hoped to never see again in his lifetime.

The precipice of depression.

Jensen's emotions were roiling, in turmoil, threatening to suck him under a wave of despair of tsunami like proportions. They were strong. Too strong for him to deal with via any means a regular person would use.

Jensen knew if he was drug under he had better have an outlet at the ready to use for immediate release. Or he'd be eaten alive. From the inside out. Which meant he'd probably be forced to rely on tried and true methods he knew from past experience worked for him.

Even if his therapist insisted they weren't healthy.

Time passed. But Jensen was immune to everything and everyone around him. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. All that mattered was the coaxing, tempting thoughts fluttering through his mind.

Just one cut, they cajoled. Just a single cut and you'll feel better. You'll be able to cope until it's time to leave tomorrow.

Just one cut.

And he'd be able to cope.

With the images of the blond prince and the dark knight happy together. With the image of Jared bent over Eric's back, thrusting in and out of Eric's ass.

With the image of Jared's head thrown back, face lined with ecstasy, as Eric buried his face in Jared's crotch.

With the knowledge that Jensen would never be forgiven but forever forgotten.

Just one cut and peace would be his. For a little while.

It was the feel of a hand slipping into one of his that tugged Jensen back from the dangerous edge he toed.

"Go on to practice, Sam," Jensen heard Dean say. "I'm staying out here with Jensen."

"Fucking Jared," Sam snarled softly.

"Play nice."

"Sorry, lovely, that's one promise I refuse to make. JT—"

"May not be completely at fault."

"Jensen's nineteen, Dean, while JT will be twenty-nine in a couple weeks. JT has way more experience than Jensen with life, with love, with everything. And given how he's choosing to handle this situation, no matter what happened between them on New Year's Day, right now JT's the one most at fault."

"Sam—"

"Fine. I'll be cordial to the asshole. For the moment." The sound of retreating foot stomps signaled Sam's departure.

"No, Dean, I'm not," Jensen answered before Dean could ask. He opened his eyes and met Dean's gaze. "I'm not okay."

"Will you be?"

"Did you know Eric's here?" Jensen asked in blatant avoidance of Dean's question. "He's already inside the club."

"Sam said that Jared mentioned something about your new friend being with you." Bouncing from one foot to the other, Dean's eyes darted all around. "Look, Jensen, I know you don't make friends easily, know that better than anyone, and I know I don't really know the guy, and I certainly don't want to discourage you from forming new friendships, especially with me traveling right now on top of planning a wedding and maybe soon going off to college—"

"Spit it out, Dean."

Dean’s twitchy behavior stopped. "Your new friend really comes across as a tart."

Jensen's peals of wild laughter rang throughout the lobby, drawing the curious stares of guests who were passing through. "Oh, yes, he is undeniably a tart. Skanky, too."

And, for the third time since his arrival, Jensen could see Dean's jealousness was about to make an appearance and cause him to live up to the nickname the tabloids had been quick to bless him with. Eyes narrowed, The Deviant Diva stared at the club's entrance. He let go of Jensen's hand and took a step forward. "I'm going to go in there and rip—"

"Everything okay?" a male voice questioned, drawing both Dean and Jensen's attention.

"Oh, yeah, everything's just awesome, Christian," Dean answered, voice increasing in volume with each word he spoke. "Sam and Jared are waiting for you, ready to practice. And they have a skank to keep them company while they wait. Things could _not_ be better right now."

Christian rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand down the lines of dark hair on either side of his mouth. The thin strips connected his recently grown moustache to his recently grown goatee. "Is that your way of telling me to get my ass in there so practice can start?"

"Preferably asap!" Dean exploded.

"Then I guess I better go," Christian said, laughing. "For my sake, I suspect, more than the skank's." His soulful, blue eyes focused on Jensen and his lips turned up at the corners. "Real good to see you again." He strolled off towards Doux Rêves, remarking, "Because shit's started getting very interesting since you've arrived."

Once Jensen was alone again with Dean, he grabbed his bristling best friend's hand. "Dean, it's not Sam Eric's after."

"Good!" Dean visibly deflated, relief obvious. Then blanched. "Well, maybe not so good, because no matter who he's after, it's still...well, it's shitty. And you and Jared..." The hand entwined with Jensen's gave a gentle squeeze. "Are you going to be okay, Jensen?"

Not ever. "Yeah, eventually."

"No more piercings?"

"No, Dean, no more piercings. You know, I wasn't totally lying when I said part of the reason I got them was because I thought they'd look cool."

"Yeah, uh-huh, right. Look, Jensen, I'm really worried about you. Do you think talking about what happened might help?"

"No, I don't. I just want to..." Take it all back. Erase the catalyst he'd set in motion on New Year's Day and start over clean with Jared. "...I don't want to talk about it. I just want to forget it. And move on. I'll be fine."

"Then I'm going to trust you're telling me the truth and I won't ask you to speak about it again. And I'm so sorry about twisting your arm into coming up here."

"I came because I wanted to, dude."

"Do you want to go home? I mean, like, now? I'll call Jet Blue and pay the penalty and any rate increase to switch your flight from tomorrow to this afternoon."

Jensen contemplated the offer. Not even an hour before it's exactly what he'd thought he wanted to do. He'd thought he wanted to leave. To not torture himself any more with this hell of his own making.

Yeah, he could still do that. Only, there was one very important difference between earlier and now.

Eric.

Like hell Jensen was leaving.

If Eric got his clutches into Jared, which Jensen feared would be the inevitable conclusion, it wasn't going to be because he had taken advantage of Jensen's error. It was going to be because the slut had worked hard for what he wanted.

"What?" Jensen infused the single word with a generous amount of mock outrage. "Leave and let you have all the fun by yourself tonight? I don't think so, pretty boy. You're not getting rid of me that easy."

A slow smile stretched across Dean's face. "You sure, jackass?"

"Hell yeah, I'm sure. I'm very sure."

Because, before Jensen left New York City, there was a certain scheming someone he planned to have expelled from Doux Rêves and from The Huntington. And Jensen suspected thwarting Eric would serve just as well as any release he would find through cutting himself open and watching the stark contrast of his red blood run down the pale skin of his inner arm. But there was no way he could oversee and reap the possible benefits of the ejection from the inside of a limo or the inside of an airport and definitely not from the belly of an airborne airplane.

This required onsite, hands-on involvement.

"Let's go watch our favorite band practice, Dean. But first, first we need to inform Clif about a security issue that needs to be addressed. Immediately."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote this chapter a couple years back, it was like the longest sex scene I'd ever attempted and I still don't think that I've managed to surpass this record yet. This is almost 4,000 words of porn, a tiny amount of plot and, oh yeah, _even more porn_ :-/

"Of course you're a butt loving fairy...I'm not surprised. Not surprised at all. Faggot."
    
    
              ~Linda Ackles to thirteen year old son Jensen~

*

**December 24 - 25, 2010**

They made it as far as the VIP bathroom. Jared had apparently already known it would be empty as he’d made a visit to wipe Jensen’s black lipstick off his face while Jensen himself had been busy leading Clif straight to Dean.

As they entered, it occurred to Jensen that there was something really important he needed to tell Jared. About a little quirk of his. Up to that point, Dean had been Jensen’s one and only lover and Jensen’s quirk had never bothered him as he felt it was a perfect fit to Jensen’s personality. Plus, it had never stopped Dean from getting off. Still, Jensen felt it necessary to give Jared fair warning. "Hey, I—"

"Shut up." Jared slammed the door shut behind him and twisted the lock into place. "And put your hands on that wall over there."

Jensen obliged, but immediately turned his head to peek over a shoulder. Again, he tried to warn, "I—"

"Keep that pretty mouth of yours closed." Jared approached slowly, stopping when he stood right behind Jensen. "Can you do that for me, baby? Can you shut the hell up for ten minutes?"

 _Ten whole minutes_? Whew, that was going to be a stretch. In more ways than Jensen just keeping quiet.

Wiggling his ass in what he hoped was an enticing manner, Jensen said, "Sure, I can. No problemo."

"Somehow, I really, truly doubt that." Wrapping his arms around Jensen’s waist from the back, Jared nuzzled his face into Jensen’s neck as he unfastened and unzipped Jensen’s jeans. He hunkered behind Jensen as he slid them down. There was a metallic clink as the decorative chain clipped to Jensen’s belt loops hit the floor.

Jared pulled Jensen’s underwear down next and Jensen’s cock popped out. There was no need to stroke his buddy into readiness; he already stood strong, at a forty-five degree angle, a happy camper relishing his freedom. "Yes, I can. And I'll prove it to you. But, first, I really think it's important to tell you—"

"Shhh." Jared nudged Jensen’s feet as far apart as they would go, hindered as they were by Jensen’s current fashion of Tripp jeans down around the ankles. "Keep your legs open, just like that. Don't you dare close them unless I tell you to." Massaging Jensen’s bared ass, Jared kissed each cheek, following up the soft brush of his lips with a brusque smack.

Jensen jumped, yelping, "Owww!"

"You're still talking."

"Oh, c'mon, owww doesn't count. That's not talking."

"And now?"

"Okay, _now_ I'm talking, I admit it, but it's your own fault. You smacked me hard and it—" Jared’s hands spread Jensen’s cheeks apart and his tongue flittered over Jensen’s opening, teasing. More blood rushed to Jensen’s painfully engorged cock, making it bob without the assistance of touch. It hit the wall on the down stroke, leaving its mark of pre-seminal fluid on the cool, tiled surface. "—feels so good."

"I'll make it feel even better. But only if you keep those luscious lips of yours sealed tight."

"Deal." Fuck warning Jared. He'd find out about Jensen’s quirk on his own soon enough. "Now do it again. _Please_. No one has ever done that to me before and I just have to feel your tongue on me again. I'll die if you don't do it. I promise I will. I'll just keel right over. Shit, now that I think about it, it felt so good I'll probably die if you _do_ do it again. But, still, I have to feel you. _Now_ , Jared."

"Incorrigible and pushy, too." The raspy words were the only sign that Jared planned to give in to Jensen’s ramble-like begging. He sucked the skin on Jensen’s left cheek so hard, Jensen knew he'd end up with an angry bruise there later.

Cool, a personally applied Deviant Spawn souvenir.

Jensen couldn't help but wonder how much a photo of his ass would go for on e-bay.

Lightly, Jared's tongue trailed a wet, skipping path to the right, until he reached Jensen’s crack. He licked from the top down, stopping when he reached that place that Jensen so needed him to be. Spreading Jensen’s cheeks wider, Jared licked, sucked and nipped all around Jensen’s opening, but never entered him.

It was the most erotic thing Jensen had ever experienced.

Feeling a powerful orgasm rush over him, Jensen whimpered. At the last moment, he tried to issue another warning, "Jared, I have—"

"A very big ass mouth I want to you to keep the fuck closed,” Jared pulled back long enough to mutter.

Then he thrust his tongue inside of Jensen and Jensen felt the walls of his ass clamp down tight on the strong muscle. But it was the thought that it was Jared Tristan Padalecki, Deviant Spawn's lead guitarist, on his knees behind Jensen, rimming Jensen’s ass that pushed Jensen over the edge.

"Uh, oh god, oh god, ah—" Jensen’s dick exploded, painting the wall in front of him with strings of come. "Fuck," he moaned, shuddering as the final pulse squirted out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuuuck_. Jesus, I love you, Jared."

Only three or so minutes had elapsed since the time they’d entered the bathroom.

Jensen would blame his quickness on a sex drought...but he'd be lying. A full twenty-four hours hadn't even passed since the last time he'd messed around with Dean. And he'd shot his load twice as fast as he ever did when fooling around with his best friend.

Jared pulled back and rested his chin against the crack of Jensen’s ass. "Did you just—" He paused, laughing. "Oh, shit, you _did_ , didn't you?"

"Yeah, I kinda have a hairpin trigger," Jensen explained, sheepish. "Tried to warn you."

"So you did." Jared’s deep, belly-wrenching sniggers were infectious and Jensen soon found himself joining in. When they both sobered, Jared stood and said, "Zip up. We're leaving."

"Where we off to?" Jensen asked, pulling up his pants.

"Told you to be careful with saying those words to me a third time. I own you now. You go where I go. And right now I'm going to my room to test out a certain hairpin trigger I recently acquired."

Yes! A whole night with Jared. One sure to be filled with enlightening demonstrations of how much, and in what ways, he dug Jensen.

Jensen would have to send a photo of the hickey to Gen in thanks for her awesome Christmas gift. Or, on second thought, maybe he wouldn't. E-mailing her a picture of his ass would just be begging her to come and kick it.

"But first we need to get you cleaned up," Jared said. He walked over to the paper towel dispenser, then pulled a couple sheets out and wet them in the sink. "You're a little bit of a mess right now."

"Umm, yeah, also your fault," Jensen pointed out.

"Sure is." The acknowledgement was completely unapologetic. "But come over here and I'll get you all ready for the cameras."

Jensen joined Jared, tilting his face up. With gentle strokes, Jared rubbed the scratchy paper across Jensen’s eyes and lips, clearing it all away. The black velvet eyeliner. The carbon black mascara. The black pearl eye shadow. The vintage raven lipstick.

The security blanket Jensen clung to disappeared in a bundle of soiled paper towels tossed into one of Virtuous's trash bins.

Jared regarded Jensen thoughtfully. "Why'd you have all that shit piled up on your face anyway? What are you hiding from?"

Jensen’s insecurities, his unworthiness, his past.

Himself.

Shit he _did not_ want to think about.

"Hiding? Who's hiding? I'm not hiding. Nope, not me." Jensen graced Jared with what he meant to be a sunny smile that was probably more of a grimace. He clawed open the lock on the door and lurched out the bathroom, hoping Jared wouldn't press the issue.

First person he saw on exit was Sam, who was still on the couch, both hands clasped together behind his head. His long hair hung over the arm, the tips just sweeping the floor.

Jensen sped-walked by. But no matter how fast he was going, there was no way he could miss the huge, shit-eating grin splitting Sam’s face in two.

Sam opened his mouth and said—

"Shut the fuck up," Jared interrupted from behind Jensen, before Sam could get a single word out. "And find somebody to—" Jared stopped for a second before continuing in a voice suddenly brimming with false cheerfulness, "Hey, gold digger, still want that tip? Sam'll give your ass a twenty if you go clean up in the bathroom."

There was a feminine squawk of outrage.

"I'll make it a hundred if you go do it," Sam contributed.

Jensen took the sound of rushing footsteps, followed by the closing of a door, as proof his assailant found Sam's offer infinitely more acceptable than Jared's.

"JT," Sam said, chuckling, "you are truly one evil ass, nasty ass, _messy ass_ motherfucker."

"And I'll bet my mess is still cleaner than the one you made of that private room in that club back in o-nine, lover boy. Shit, when did that happen-January? February?"

 _January twenty-third_ , Jensen thought, still hurrying towards the stairs. He remembered the exact date because the purported incident Jared was talking about had occurred the night before Dean's eighteenth birthday. It was rumored that Sam had paid a hefty amount in restitution to the club, part of which was supposed to include the owner's silence...but, mysteriously enough, grainy pics of the astonishing damages taken with somebody's camera phone had still managed to make their way onto the internet.

"I'm completely innocent," Sam protested. "Wasn't me."

"Stockholm? Two brunette sisters? Plus their brother? Still gonna claim it wasn't you?"

"It was two brunet brothers plus their sweet, innocent brunette sister. And that sure wasn't me."

"I watched the four of you enter that room together."

"It wasn't—"

"Stop trying to bullshit a bullshitter." Jared finally caught up to Jensen and placed a possessive hand at the small of Jensen’s back. "And just go have fun with your girly boy. Me and his friend are out."

Jensen didn’t remember all the details of leaving the club or of arriving at the hotel. But he did know that Jared didn't ask him again about the makeup. That may have been because they were too busy groping each other the entire way there.

On arrival, there were pictures. The photographers swarmed soon as Jared exited the limo and Jensen was thankful for Jared's foresight to get Jensen cleaned up. Jared laughed and chatted it up with the paps, while Jensen smiled and posed, but kept quiet.

It took about half an hour to forty-five minutes for them to breakaway and make their escape to Jared’s suite. And they were only able to do so because Christian and his two girlfriends had arrived and some of the heat had transferred over to them.

Jared sat on the couch in the living room of his hotel room, legs splayed open. He observed Jensen for a moment, then ordered, "Strip."

Jensen couldn't get out of his clothes fast enough, but when he reached for the last item touching his skin, his black leather collar, Jared said, "Leave it. Now turn around and let me see you."

"Like this?" Jensen twirled in a circle, shameless. The scars on his arms and inner thighs were long faded. The lights were dim. And he was with Jared.

Who desired him.

Even with his makeup gone, current circumstances served as the perfect bolster to Jensen’s courage.

"Yeah, just like that. Goddamn, you are sexy as fuck. C'mere." When Jensen reached him, Jared instructed, "On your knees."

Mostly, Jensen had been the one to top when having sex with Dean. Jensen was the more masculine of the two, slightly more aggressive, so it just sort of ended up that way when they played their sex games. The arrangement went against Jensen’s natural inclinations, but he was versatile so he didn't mind too much.

Besides, it was fuck Dean or find himself damn near performing Cirque Du Soleil type feats with his ass in an effort to keep Dean’s dick hard for the five to six minutes it normally took for Jensen to come. Dean was a true bottom.

But Jared's demanding attitude attracted Jensen on a whole other level that Dean had never come close to reaching and never would. Jared was going to fuck Jensen and Jensen knew it. Wanted it.

And no circus tricks would be required on anybody’s part.

"You want it, baby? You want my dick?" Jared asked.

As he sank down to his knees, Jensen’s head jerked up and down in frantic affirmation.

"Then take it out."

Jensen reached for the button of Jared’s jeans and unfastened it. His breath came faster as he slid the zipper down and revealed a wild nest of untamed, dark brown pubic hairs. Reaching inside the opening he'd created, Jensen pulled out Jared’s veined, ridged shaft. Only the very tip of the purple head peeked out from inside the foreskin.

Only time Jensen had ever seen uncut cocks before was on ExtemeTube and Tube8. But those videos hadn't prepared him for the smell. Jared's pungent odor was pure masculine musk.

Jensen’s mouth watered.

"Do it," Jared demanded. "Go on, suck it for me."

After sliding the foreskin back, Jensen lowered his head and engulfed Jared’s cock. Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked hard and fast as he could, quickly discovering Jared was far removed from Dean's sweetness. His flavor was salty. Sharp.

He tasted better than Dean. Much, much better. Intoxicatingly better.

He tasted like a _man_ , not a boy.

"Shit, your mouth feels good." Grabbing Jensen’s head in both hands, Jared held him still. Then he began to fuck Jensen’s face.

Jared was considerably bigger than Dean and Jensen gagged when his cock entered a previously unexplored territory of Jensen’s throat. When Jared used his grip to try and pull Jensen off, Jensen slapped his hands away.

"Mooor," he said around the erection filling his mouth. "Ah wan mooor."

"Then I'll give you more." Jared placed his hands on the sides of Jensen’s head again and resumed his slow fuck, soon working himself up to a much faster pace. Jensen gagged a couple more times, but Jared didn't stop again. Not until his cell vibrated.

As he answered the call, Jensen continued to suck him. It was noisy and messy as he licked and slurped all over Jared’s length.

"Make it quick, lover boy,” Jared said. “Yeah, quicker than me in the bathroom, fucker. I'm in the middle of—oh, shit—something. Yeah, dumb ass, that something is with Jensen. Uh-huh, he's staying the night. What about you? Get your girly boy?" Jared snorted loudly. "Jesus, fuck, you're good, baby. I wasn't talking to you, Sam, I was talking to Jensen. Don't worry about what we're doing right now. Did you call Christian yet? Don't tell me. I don't even want to think about what him and those—goddamn, Jensen—broads of his are doing right above my head. Yep. I'll let him know."

The phone was tossed aside and Jensen let Jared slip out of his mouth to ask, "Let me know what?"

"To let Dean know you're cool."

"I'll text him." Leaning over, Jensen snagged his jeans from where he'd dropped them on the floor. Once he had his cell in hand, he navigated to the screen to start a new message.

_To: Emma Frost_

_Jared says that Sam says to let u know i'm ok. I'm ok! More than ok. Better than ok. Will talk tom. Want deets. All deets. Detailed deets. I'll have deets!_

Jared snatched the phone from Jensen after the message had been sent and threw it on the carpeted floor. It landed right next to his. "Get on the couch, Jensen."

They switched positions and Jared’s fingers found Jensen’s perineum with unerring accuracy. He rubbed it as he swallowed Jensen to the root in a single gulp. The come spurted out of Jensen before his mind even registered what the hell was going on.

"So, it wasn't a fluke," Jared said afterwards. He wiped the back of a hand across his mouth.

"N-no." Jensen’s chest heaved and he had to force his breathing to slow in order to prevent hyperventilation. "It's, uh, always been like that. But never so q-quick before. _Never_."

"Good." Jared’s grin was feral as he rose up off the floor. He left to go into an adjoining room.

Less than a minute later, he was back. Armed with lubricant.

And naked.

Jensen watched him uncap the black bottle and drizzle the oily liquid onto his palm. With firm, even strokes, Jared covered his impressive erection, his helmet head hiding and reappearing from inside his foreskin with each move of his hand. Jensen was so enthralled, he failed to notice when or how Jared produced the condom, but his fascination extended to watching Jared roll it down to cover his slicked, unyielding flesh. More lube was then applied to the outside of the rubber.

When he was finished, Jared knelt on the floor between Jensen’s thighs. Jared moved Jensen until Jensen was slouched down low on the couch in a half sitting, half lying down position, with his ass at the very edge of the cushion. Jared hooked Jensen’s legs over his shoulders, aligned his dick with Jensen’s hole, then pressed forward. There was a whole lot of resulting burning, but no penetration accomplished.

"Damn, you're tight." Jared stopped moving. "Jesus, Jensen, you a virgin, baby?"

"No, not a virgin," Jensen breathed out through his nose. "You're just, uh, a whole lot bigger than Dean, y’know."

"You and Dean, huh? I'm going to have to really watch you around Sam, then. Because if that slick ass bastard catches word that you two used to be lovers, he'll find some type of way to finagle you into bed with them."

Jared's words made Jensen’s heart flutter. If Jared was worried about "watching" Jensen around Sam, then did that mean he and Sam were planning to spend Christmas Day with Jensen and Dean? Because when else would there be a need, or opportunity, to do that watching? This really was shaping up to be the best Christmas _ever_.

"Also," Jensen explained, "I very seldom bottom because I mostly top."

"Seldom bottom because you mostly—" Booming laughter was substituted as the last word of the sentence.

Alrighty then. Apparently further clarification was required. "I prefer bottoming, but I'm versatile."

"You are not versatile." Jared drug the calloused pad of his thumb across Jensen’s lips. "What you are is a complete and total bottom. And I'm going to enjoy showing you just how much of one you are." Pushing forward again, Jared said, "C’mon, baby, let me in."

Jensen bore down and soon Jared was all the way inside. He filled Jensen up in ways Dean never had. And although Jensen wasn't exactly in pain, he was very uncomfortable.

Jared pulled out a couple inches, then slowly eased his way back in.

"Oh, fuck," was the response elicited from Jensen. Jared repeated the action over and over and Jensen soon found himself adjusting to the intrusion. The friction caused by Jared’s cock constantly rubbing against the walls of Jensen’s ass, and over his prostate at uneven intervals, transformed into a pleasurable tingle.

Jensen’s soft cock thickened to full erection.

"Yeah, that's what I was waiting for," Jared growled. "Don't even think about touching it because I'm going to make you come. So hard. With just _my dick_."

That did it.

The heels of Jensen’s feet pressed down hard on Jared’s upper back and Jensen arched off the couch. Globs of viscous, white fluid erupted from him, splattering his stomach and chest.

Jared allowed a minimal amount of recovery time before pulling out and directing, "Turn around, then get on your knees up on the couch."

Jensen had barely assumed the new position when Jared moved in behind him, in between his legs. Jared placed his forearm along the line of Jensen's collar and with gentle, but unmistakable force pressed down until Jensen was bent over, his arms folded on the couch's back.

"Nothing else goes in this ass ever again but my tongue, my fingers, my dick. Got it?" Jared’s cock was positioned at Jensen’s hole, but he didn't go any further until Jensen nodded assent.

Then he bottomed out, drawing a long, whining curse of—" _Shiiit_ "—from Jensen.

"Can you come for me again?" Jared asked, rolling his hips. "Can you do it for me one more time?"

Jensen wanted to—oh, how he wanted to—but his spent flesh just wasn't responding. His dick was limp, his balls drained. "Can't."

"It’s okay, you already did good." Jared shoved in deep, a low grunt escaping him as he came. “You've been so very good for me tonight, baby,” he continued, his words making Jensen’s ass involuntarily clench around his twitching shaft. "Versatile, my motherfucking ass," Jared grumbled a little while later, fingering the strip of leather encircling Jensen's neck. "Try again."

"Multifaceted," Jensen blurted, face heating over the pleasure Jared's touch caused. "I should have said that I'm multifaceted."

"You think?"

"I know."

So Jared took it upon himself to show Jensen that multifaceted wasn't the correct word either and that neither was flexible. It was about three thirty in the morning when Jensen finally ended up admitting that he was a complete and total bottom.

A complete and total bottom who was experiencing true happiness. Jared's personality was forceful, but tender. His embrace demanding, but giving. His praise unexpected, but forthcoming.

He made Jensen feel protected like his mom had never bothered to do and safe in ways that Dean had just never been able to manage.

What he made Jensen feel scared the shit out of Jensen. He was so glad tomorrow would be their last day together.


	7. Chapter 7

"Do me a great big favor. Go play in rush hour traffic."
    
    
              ~Linda Ackles to six year old son Jensen~

*

**February 5, 2011**

"Let's pluck his eyebrows off."

"Not good enough. The slut would just draw them back on."

"Hmmm, how about this, then? We kidnap him, take him to the hotel's salon then you hold him down while I give him a spray tan."

"Extra orangey?"

"Extra, extra orangey."

"Now that idea just might have some merit to it, Dean. But let's keep brainstorming and see what else we can come up with."

Jensen and Dean were sitting at one of the tables that ringed the back of Doux Rêves while Jared, Sam and Christian were up on the stage at the front of the club performing a sound check. Rather than watch the band, Jensen and Dean found themselves focused on the area where Christian's girlfriends stood.

This set was a different set than the two girls Christian had been with while down in Orlando. Actually, they weren't even one of the three sets he famously rotated between.

These two were both taller than Christian, leggy and gorgeous. They could almost pass for twins they looked so much alike. They were also blond, just like Eric, who they'd taken an immediate liking to on their late arrival to the club. Eric stood with them in the center of the otherwise cleared out area right in front of the club's stage and the three were enthralled watching Deviant Spawn practice. Their rapturous attention was only disturbed by their occasional tittering whisper.

Jensen wanted to claw all of their eyes out, the Doublemint Twins just on GP.

"How about shaving half his head, plucking his eyebrows _and_ giving him that tan?" Jensen suggested. When Dean didn't respond, he forced his attention away from the golden haired troika.

An evil glow of happiness blossomed in Jensen's chest when he saw Clif crouched by Dean's side, whispering in Dean's ear. Dean nodded at whatever Clif was saying, then Clif stood and retreated to the club's shadows.

Dean looked at Jensen. "You want the good news first? Or the bad news?"

There was bad news? "What bad news?"

"Good idea, let's go with the good news first."

" _What_ bad news?"

"The guard has been relieved of his duties effective immediately. His offer to you has also been conveyed to his superiors at the security agency. And Clif said you are to report any other inappropriate comments made by the guards or any employees of the hotel. That is to be done _immediately_ , Jensen, not when you feel it best suits your needs."

" _What bad news_?"

Dean shifted in his seat, mumbling, "Crap, why do I have to be the one to tell you?"

"Dean—"

"He stays."

Fuck. Jensen's heart plummeted. "Tell me, please tell me—Christ, you don't mean _Eric_."

"I do."

"But...why? The only reason he's here in the first place is because he sucked that guard off!"

"And he stays because Jared has personally asked him to."

Jensen knew Dean was telling the truth...and he had a pretty good idea of when the offer had been imparted. About an hour and a half before, the band had taken a quick break after hashing out what Dean informed Jensen were intricate, safety related details with the pyrotechnicians of where Jared and Sam would be standing on the stage at certain moments of their performance. Jared had hopped off the stage afterwards and strode to the club's bar to retrieve a bottle of water. And Eric had immediately discarded his coat to reveal a tiny t-shirt with _I'm Kind Of A Big Deal_ written on the front, shoved his coat into the hands of one of the girls and was one step behind Jared.

When Eric laid a hand on Jared's arm, Jared had looked first at Eric in amusement then to Jensen with less than friendly intent. On seeing what had attracted Jared's notice, Eric said something that drew the attention back to him. He'd followed his statement up with another comment, making Jared laugh. They'd stood at the bar for a good five minutes conversing, Eric using his hands to talk almost as much as he did his mouth.

Neither men had looked in Jensen's direction again.

But Jensen had watched them.

Jensen felt like his entire world, which had been shaky since birth, was tumbling down around him. And it was _all_ his fault. "I need to—I can't—I gotta—"

"Hungry? I'm hungry." Without waiting for an answer, Dean jumped to his feet and grabbed Jensen's hand, pulling Jensen out of his chair. "Let's go get some brunch."

Dean drug Jensen out the club, only pausing long enough to advise Clif where they were going.

Minutes later, they sat at a table in the middle of Treble Clef. Dean ordered for them both and long, silent minutes were spent waiting for their food to arrive. When it did, Dean halfheartedly ate his entree while Jensen just stared at his.

"Fruit salad is good," Dean remarked.

"Uh-huh," Jensen agreed.

"How would you know? You haven't even touched yours."

"I'm not really hungry."

"I am," Sam said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dean's head, then collapsed into the chair next to Dean's.

"Practice over?" Dean asked.

"Yep. Time for some rest and relaxation for a couple hours." He waggled his eyebrows at Dean. "You gonna wear me out so I can rest good? Or—"

"Damn it, Sam, will you be good in front of Jensen, please."

Dean and Sam's cutesy display was something that Jensen could not deal with at the moment. With the goal of distraction in mind, Jensen slid his full plate of food over to Sam. "Help yourself."

"Sam, do _not_ eat that," Dean warned. As Sam placed the fork he'd just picked up back on the table, Dean continued, "You need to eat, Jensen."

Success. "Not if I'm not hun—"

A shrill, high-pitched squeal sounded from one of the tables behind Jensen. The grating sound was followed up by Eric's giggling shriek of, "Let me sit down, Jared!"

Jared's response was an indistinct rumble.

"I can't very well do it here, now can I? I said I'll show you _later_. When we're _alone_."

Jensen was on his feet and out the door of the café before Dean or Sam could stop him.

Pulling his hood over his head, Jensen hunched his shoulders against the cold he was about to brave and exited The Huntington out to the hotel's courtyard. Although the courtyard was private, with access having to be gained through the hotel itself, the manager had taken no risks after her talk with Sam. Courtesy of the hotel, she'd arranged for extra security to be brought in. For each one of the hotel's entry points for all hours of the day until every member of the band and their entourage had checked out. Thankfully, the man currently on guard at the door used by Jensen let him pass with no lewd innuendos, with no comments being made at all.

Sloshing through the pure, previously undisturbed snow, Jensen walked. It was his first time ever seeing snow in person, but he was so distracted he couldn't enjoy the experience. He walked past The Huntington's closed down exterior brick bar. Past the multi-tiered stone water fountain with its immense basin filled to the brim with cold, white stuff. Past the striped down trees with their sad, thin arms of icicle branches. He wasn't aware of where he was going, he just knew he had to do something, to go somewhere.

The temptation to fall back on his original plan of the day was strong at the forefront of his mind. Since it was more than evident that Eric wasn't going anywhere, Jensen thought that maybe he should be the one to leave instead.

But Jensen wasn't a punk. He'd never run from his mother's abuse and he wasn't going to run from this situation either. Resolute in what he needed to do, Jensen's journey stopped when his mind reached a conclusion.

He was just going to have to deal. And he was going to do it with grace.

Crunching snow from behind forecasted the approach of another, but Jensen didn't turn around to see who it was. He knew. And God love Dean, he was the best friend Jensen could've ever asked for and the _only_ friend Jensen had, but Jensen was ready to flip his shit on him for not giving Jensen a few precious moments to himself.

"Fucking hell, it's freezing out here," the new arrival said.

"Christian?" Jensen asked in confusion, spinning to face him.

"Here, put this on." In Christian's hands was an unbuttoned black leather coat. He held it at the collar, open and ready for Jensen to slip his arms inside.

Jensen was too bewildered to do anything except stare. Had Christian followed him?

Given that Christian wore a black cap over his long, brown hair and that there was a black leather coat already covering his own body, Jensen was inclined to believe that, yes, Christian _had_ gone to his room to grab a second coat for Jensen, then followed Jensen out to the courtyard.

Of all the people Jensen figured had a reason to follow him, to either profess their concern or express their disgust, he didn't see where Christian had an interest. They had had no dealings with each other outside of an exchanged smile on Christmas Eve, a pleasantry or two swapped on the limo ride to Dean's house on Christmas Day and the few words Christian had spoken to him today.

A fierce gust of wind whistled through the courtyard, cutting right through Jensen's too thin hoodie. A violent tremor wracked his body.

"The general idea here is for you to put this on _before_ you freeze to death," Christian said, not unkindly .

The next gust sent Jensen flying to Christian. He shrugged into the shearling-lined coat, the scent of expensive cologne suffusing his nostrils. The aroma was very pleasing in an understated sort of way. Although Christian was the same height as Jensen, maybe even a fraction of an inch shorter, the coat was still a big fit as he was stocky where Jensen was lanky.

"That looks so much better on you than it ever has on me," Christian commented, studying Jensen. "You should keep it."

It was one thing for Jensen to borrow the coat until he returned inside, quite another for him to not give it back at all. Fashion may have been more Dean's passion than Jensen's, but Jensen wasn't oblivious. The coat's label had read Salvatore Ferragamo. And Salvatore Ferragamo was a big name...meaning the coat had cost big bucks. It was probably worth more than Jensen's entire hodgepodge wardrobe of Walmart shirts, Target accessories and Hot Topic pants all put together.

"No way!" Jensen protested. "I can't keep this."

"It's already yours."

"But I have no need of it back home."

"Then do with it what you will. Hang it your closet, donate it, sell it—shit, I don't care, but just don't try to give it back again. I don't take gifts back."

Well, that settled that, didn’t it. "How'd you know where I was? That I even needed a coat?"

"I was standing in the lobby just now and watched you rush by. And I was with Dean and Sam last night when Dean mentioned that the hoodie you got on right now was all you had. I figured I had the extra coat while you had the extra body..." Christian shrugged then rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet.

"Thanks," Jensen said.

"No problem, but I'm going back inside now. I'm not made for this cold shit." Christian took a few steps away from Jensen, stopped, then retraced his steps back to Jensen's side. "Who am I trying to fool, I can't leave you out here by yourself. You just seem too...upset. When I saw you leaving earlier and even more so now."

Upset didn't even begin to cover it. Jensen was defeated, but he forced a sad smile regardless. "I'm fine. A-okay, that's me."

Skepticism was apparent all over Christian's face. "And you're being about as truthful with me as Jared is being with everybody right now while showing off his new boy toy." Christian fell silent, then added, "He's miserable without you."

"You're wrong. He was miserable _because_ of me." Voice a low, hurt whisper, Jensen said, "But he's not anymore."

"Even so, you still don't deserve to have him shove his skank down your throat."

"I bet you don't even know what I did to him, do you?" The prickle of tears burned Jensen's eyes, but he held them back.

"I don't need to know. Because, no matter what, as my mama always says, there's always the other cheek."

"I deserve this. I deserve everything Jared's doing and more. Much, much more." The tiniest sliver formed in Jensen's dam and the first tear escaped. Which was quickly followed by a second. And a third.

Strong arms wrapped around him. "Ah, shit, no, don't do that."

"These are tears of happiness," Jensen sobbed, trembling uncontrollably. He clutched at Christian. "Can't you tell I'm happy right now? So fucking happy."

Christian didn't dispute Jensen's claim. He just held on until Jensen had exhausted his well, soothing hands rubbing up and down Jensen's back. "All done?"

"Yeah, sorry for spreading my happiness all over you." Jensen attempted to pull away.

But Christian refused to let go. And Jensen was suddenly aware that there was no space between their bodies. None.

And Jensen didn't think the heat emanating off Christian was solely due to the man's body temperature.

Intense blue eyes on level with Jensen's own eyes regarded Jensen. "You are just too goddamn cute."

Whoa. "I, uh, you—shouldn't you go—yes, you should definitely—"

The space that had been nothing to begin with disappeared completely as Christian tugged the hood off Jensen's head, leaned forward and pressed his lips against Jensen's.

The kiss was sweet, tender, gentle.

And passionless.

All Jensen could think about was how much Christian's facial hair didn't tickle like he thought it should.

"You have _got_ to be shitting me," a loud voice snarled.

Oh, fuck.

_Oh, fuck._

Jared.

Jensen tried to jump back...and still didn't get anywhere. Christian was holding on to him tighter than before.

"What's up?" Christian replied. Hidden from Jared's view, he winked at Jensen. "As you can see, this isn't the most convenient of moments."

Rage was visible in every line of Jared's face. "Are you having some type of crisis with your sexuality, Christian? In case you've forgotten, playboy, you're a man whore, not a fag."

"Be still," Christian hissed under his breath as Jensen tried wiggling his way to freedom. "I don't know, JT, having all these pretty boys around all over the place is wreaking crazy havoc on my libido. Pretty cool we each get one of our own, huh? Sam has Dean, you have him—" an inclined head indicated Eric who Jensen hadn't even realized was present until then "—and I get Jensen."

"You've got your bimbos." Each word was enunciated deliberately slow. "You _like_ your bimbos. That's why you have _multiple_ sets of them."

"Without a doubt, I like my girls." A meaningful pause preceded Christian's next statement of, "But I like Jensen, too."

Jared turned back towards The Huntington. Mumbling and cursing, he stomped off.

"Sorry about that," Christian said to Jensen, releasing him. "Couldn't resist myself. He deserved it. I meant it when I said he's been miserable. To be specific, he's been a miserable, moody asshole. To everybody."

"S'alright," Jensen murmured. He couldn't rant and rave at Christian for ruining everything...Jensen had already managed to take care of that himself. With no help required from anybody else.

"Well, guess I better go smooth things over and make sure the high strung motherfucker doesn't try to quit Deviant Spawn before our show tonight." Christian stared after Jared's retreating form. "If he does, that'll really piss Sam off since I'm pretty convinced that's been his number one goal this entire past week. It'll burn his ass he wasn't the one to make JT leave." Soulful eyes settled on Jensen again. "You really are too cute. Your vulnerability makes you just too goddamn irresistible for your own good." Sighing, he added, "And too bad I couldn't make you feel something. JT really doesn't deserve you, but I can tell he's definitely the one for you." Pace brisk, Christian took off after Jared, calling, "Wait up, motherfucker."

"Why? Done with the scene kid already? Decided you ready to be fucked by a real man now? If that's what—" The rest of the retort was lost in the roaring, wintery winds.

Pulling his hood up over his head, Jensen watched the pair depart.

What the fuck had that been—

"I _really_ can't stand you," an annoying, high-pitched, male voice bitched.

Jensen had forgotten all about Eric. His gaze snapped to him. "Ditto, slut."

Whelp, there went his grace.


End file.
